


Breaking the Divide (Remastered)

by Fatally_Procrastinating



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Demisexuality, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Mages and Templars, Multi, Redemption, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, classic misunderstandings, relationships don't always run smoothly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-05-20 12:58:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 120,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6006922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatally_Procrastinating/pseuds/Fatally_Procrastinating
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slow burn novelization of Inquisition that focuses on the romantic struggles between Cullen Rutherford and Kaitlyn Trevelyan as they navigate the divide between mage and templar.<br/></p><hr/><p><i>Was</i> she pretty?<br/><br/>He rolled his eyes at the thought. Either way, it didn’t matter. She was a mage: an apostate, at that. Once the Breach was sealed and an Inquisitor chosen, he was certain she’d take her leave, perhaps going to join the other apostates at Redcliffe. Cullen closed his eyes, his mind slowly letting go of all the reports he’d read, of all the people they’d lost, of the pounding pain behind his eyes.<br/><br/>There were more important things to worry about than Kaitlyn Trevelyan.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. End of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Temple of Sacred Ashes destroyed, Cullen and the few soldiers of the Inquisition struggle to stem the tide of demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: canon-typical violence and symptoms of withdrawal

The demons wouldn’t stop coming.

Cullen’s breath left him in ragged pants as sweat ran down the back of his neck. His throat cracked from the need for thirst and his head pounded until he was all but blinded by the pain pulsing behind his eyes. Of all the times he could’ve chosen to stop taking lyrium, it had to be the week when Thedas was doomed to end.

Plunging his sword into the solid ground so it would bear his weight, he allowed himself a moment’s pause to stare up at the glowing Breach that spewed forth the very monsters that haunted his dreams. Soldiers screamed and died around him. The Temple of Sacred Ashes was a twisted corpse of what it had been mere days before. The Divine— _dead_. Along with everyone who’d attended save for a singular woman marked by the same magic that was now killing so many.

He gritted his teeth as another bout of pain crashed down on him. The song of this red lyrium crept up his spine, latching onto his heart as it whispered of bloodied broken things. It was twisted. Evil. And he couldn’t make it stop.

“Commander!” one of the men called out.

“Fall back into formation,” he yelled, taking up his sword again as he charged forward. Morris didn’t scream when the rage demon’s claws slashed across his back. Cullen caught him as he fell. Wide and unblinking eyes stared up at the Breach as blood stained the Inquisition’s heraldry. He laid the body down. There would be time for mourning later. Barking orders to those who remained on their feet, he drew what little force he had back towards the mountain pass where they could better bottleneck the constant stream.

“You there,” he barked out to a lone soldier. They held their sword too high: a new recruit. “I said fall back!”

The soldier turned. Wisps of blonde hair peeked out from beneath their helmet. Blue eyes brimmed with terror. Their— _her_ —knees quaked. She’d left her back exposed. A fear demon with a sickly green body and spindly legs emerged from the ground behind her. Cursing, Cullen yanked a bow from the nearest scout, snatching an arrow from their quiver. Deep breath in. He pulled back on the bow string. One heartbeat to aim. Another for the creature to rear up, preparing to strike, exposing its chest. He released.

Cullen ran, dropping the weapon, even before his arrow struck. She remained frozen, sword slipping from her fingers. He rammed straight into the demon, his own shouts drowned out by the twisted lyrium’s song, and drove his sword straight through its chest. It shrieked. Claws tore at the metal for a few dying moments before it fell to its knees, its body dissolving into green light.

“Come on.” He hooked an arm around the woman’s waist, half-carrying her back to where the others were gathered. How long was he expected to hold this position?

“Commander,” Cassandra yelled as she came up the mountain with a dozen more soldiers at her back. One man walked with a slight limp and another had bandages around one hand. “You are to report back to Haven. I will stay here.”

“No,” he said.

“That is an order, Cullen.”

“And I said no! You need every man you can get.”

“You’ve been fighting without rest for two days now. If you collapse, who will you help then? No one; you will only endanger the rest of our people.”

He glared at her. She glared back.

“Very well,” he gave in with a sigh. It felt like a betrayal to turn away, but the twisting song was turning his ear, making his throat burn to taste the lyrium he knew was in Haven. “You,” he said to the woman he’d brought over. “Climb up on that ledge and use arrows instead of a sword—you’ll have a better view and can relay their attack patterns to Cassandra.”

“I–I…” She stared at Cullen for a moment before managing a slight nod. “Yes, ser!”

“Good.” He glanced to Cassandra who was already dividing the soldiers into squads while she distributed what provisions they had to those who’d been fighting longest. She nodded to him when she caught his eye then drew her sword.

Cullen turned away, hating himself a little with each step as he heard the men surge back into battle. His knees shook as he walked down the pass, the fading rush leaving him weak and shaky. He rounded the corner, barely out of sight from the forward camp, and crashed to the ground. Gasping for air, head pounding, his insides knotted and hot, he retched onto the snow. Cold sweat soaked his undershirt. He closed his eyes against the blinding whiteness of the landscape and pressed his forehead against a chilled stone nearby. He wanted to curl up and sleep. Let the cold freeze out the muted song in the back of his mind, barely distinguishable from the rustle of the trees.

He counted his heartbeats when he closed his eyes. Five. Fifteen. Thirty. Slowing now. Thirty-five. Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine.

Cullen used his shield to leverage himself back onto his feet. He swayed there a moment, the world slowly settling, before he kicked snow around to cover the mess he’d made. What a sight he must be. No wonder Cassandra wanted him away. He probably frightened the soldiers more than the demons did.

Trudging down to Haven, bile tickled the back of his throat, and hearing Chancellor Roderick’s complaining did little to lessen his headache.

“We are _not_ going to execute the prisoner,” Leliana told him. “She’s not even conscious yet. We don’t know how she’s involved.”

“But she _is_ involved,” he protested. “It can’t be a mere coincidence that that _thing_ is on her hand. She did this. She killed the Divine and I demand that you do something about it!”

“You can demand _nothing_. And I will do nothing until we can speak with her. _If_ we speak to her. She may not even survive the night. The very mark you blame for this is killing her.”

Roderick snickered at that. “Which is it, Left Hand? Is she a prisoner on the brink of death? Or the Herald of Andraste? Don’t think I haven’t noticed the rumors you and your kind have been spreading.”

“Someone was with her,” Leliana said. “That much is true. For now, she is in the Maker’s hands and I will not let you—Commander!”

Cullen straightened his back on reflex.

“I take it Cassandra relieved you for now?”

“Yes, but we can’t hold that position for long. We should try to block the pass, buy ourselves some time to… to figure something out.”

Roderick scoffed. “How inspiring.”

Leliana shot him a glare and Cullen clenched his teeth. They needed something that could close the rifts. “The prisoner?” he asked.

“The elven mage, Solas, is with her now. The healer’s done all he can but her fever has yet to abate. Solas says that if she survives the night, she should recover, but that is… doubtful at the moment.”

Cullen nodded. “I’ll check in on her.”

“Perhaps,” she said, her mouth twitching slightly, “you could see to her _after_ you’ve refreshed yourself?”

“Am I really that bad?”

Her eyes flicked down the length of his body before she shrugged. “I saw worse in Denerim— _during the Blight_.”

He chuckled softly, his head clearer now that there was distance between him and the temple. “All right. I’ll visit the prisoner after washing. Roderick.”

Roderick sneered at him as he passed, but Cullen paid him little mind as he walked into Haven's open gates. There were no proper baths in such a place. Some of the soldiers had talked about hot springs they’d found nearby, but a hot bath was a luxury he couldn’t afford. There was too little time for him to waste it on such a frivolity. Instead, he gathered a clean pair of clothes from the room he, Leliana, and Josephine shared. He’d tried to insist that he sleep somewhere else, that Cassandra take the bed, but the woman had refused to hear of it.

He knew why. Here, he was kept away from the soldiers, templars, and mages alike—they wouldn’t hear his screams at night or stoke his thirst with the lyrium in their blood. Here, his struggle and his shame remained private. And a bed. A blessed bed all his own.

He smiled then glanced to the side where Josephine had left one of her perfumed soaps out on a table. Even from where he stood, he knew the scent: elderflower. Glancing over his shoulder—though there was no need to in the empty room—he took the soap, a cloth not much larger than his face, and a bucket.

Cleaning in such a forsaken place was always a matter of risk. Wash too near the camp and you were liable to have a Chantry sister walk in on you. That in itself wasn't bad until the Mother she reported to came scolding. His ears _still_ burned from the lecture and sharp slap he’d received last time. But if you washed too far away, you risked attack from demons, animals, raiders, or flash blizzards. Most men chose to wash farther away.

Cullen scooped snow into his bucket when he stepped out of the Chantry, diverting towards Threnn’s fire where he took one of the heated stones and plopped it inside. The snow hissed faintly. He and the quarter-master exchanged nods before he walked back around to the back of the Chantry. Stacks of timber blocked out the wind here and, with a little maneuvering around several boulders too large for most people to scale, he settled into a private little nook.

His mind drifted as he stripped. _Need more Elfroot for the men_. He dipped his rag into the melted snow. _Simmons won’t be able to walk for at least a month._ He rubbed his body over with the freezing water, barely flinching. _Need to buy a muzzle for Roderick_. Soap next. He would never tell anyone how much the soft scent relaxed him. Mia would tease him about it for hours if she knew. _I wonder if she’s still in South Reach_ …

Cullen shuddered as he removed the stone to dump the rest of the bucket over his head, letting it rinse the suds away. Patting himself dry with his mantle, he took up his pair of clean clothes and managed to trip _only once_ while dressing himself. He stood there another moment, exhaustion mixing with exhilaration. Too many people underestimated the thrill of feeling clean.

A few moments later, he passed his clothes to one of the elf washerwomen, pressing what little coin he had into her palm with a muttered apology about the smell.

“Commander!”

Cullen turned around to see Knight-Captain Rylen stalking out of the Chantry doors. No less than five pairs of eyes followed him while he moved. Was it the accent that the women—and one male dwarf—found so appealing? The tattoos? It certainly wasn’t the fact that Rylen was a templar. Leliana had already stopped Cullen from eating on several occasions, shaking her head with the word _poisoned_ on her lips.

“What is it?” Cullen asked.

“It’s the prisoner, ser.”

“She’s awake?”

“Not yet. But she _is_ talking.”

Cullen frowned. Thanking and dismissing Rylen with a single grunt, he returned to the Chantry, stomach twisting as he descended into the dungeons. Dungeons. In a Chantry. Maker save the people who’d had to scrub the walls of this place clean when they’d first arrived. He’d only heard rumors but they'd spoken of rituals and blood. Hardly a day passed where someone didn't stumble across another skull. His pace quickened when he reached the final step.

Lights flickered at the end of the hallway where the prisoner was kept in her cell. A single soldier stood guard in the corner while another figured hunched over the woman. Cullen took one of the torches off the wall as he drew nearer, holding it up to see Solas tending to her. She had a straight nose and high cheeks. Her light brown skin was damp with fever sweat. Her darker hair was kept short, brushed away from her face. A thick, gnarled scar curled around her left eye. An old wound. She would’ve been a child.

“He sees me,” she said. She was shifting back and forth on the bedroll, panting and groaning. “Eyes. Too many eyes.” She arched up, turning away from the mage’s hand. “Too many eyes,” she whined. “Eyes of blood. Sees everything. _Sees everything_. No!” Her back continued to bow upwards until he feared it would snap, her eyes rolling back into her skull as the mark on her hand pulsed like a heartbeat. “No! Don’t do it! _Please!_ ”

“It’s all right,” Solas whispered beside her. His own hands glowed as he pressed one to her forehead. Her body settled, words melting into babbling mumbles. Solas turned to him. “Yes, Commander?”

“What have you found out?”

“She is a mage,” Solas said. “But I doubt she caused the Breach. That power that formed it is beyond imagining; far more than any human mage could wield.”

“Then the mark…?”

“A mystery.”

Cullen stared at the prisoner. Templars. There needed to be templars here in case something happened. If the Breach was spitting out demons, there was no telling was that same power would turn a mage into. Turning to the soldier, he ordered the man to bring back Rylen and Lysette. The man thumped his fist against his chest before walking away.

“Do you think she’ll live?” Cullen asked Solas.

“I honestly cannot say. I find it remarkable that she’s lasted this long. I have done what I can to ease her pain, but every breath is a fight.” He took the hand with the glowing mark and stared at it for a moment. “Such a small thing…”

The sound of leather scuffling across stone drew his attention towards the stairs. A woman shuffled forward, her head bowed, hands clutching a tray of food and water. Cullen shifted away from the cell door to let her pass. Solas thanked her when she set it down beside him. She froze in place, hunched over the food, head turning towards the prisoner.

Cullen was moving before he realized why. The woman snatched the knife from the tray. She drew it up, metal gleaming, then plunged it down towards the prisoner’s neck. Cullen caught her wrist. The tip of the knife trembled a finger’s width from the prisoner’s throat.

“She needs to die!” the woman screamed. “It’s her fault—her _magic_. If she dies, we’ll all be saved. She needs to die. She needs to die!”

“Commander!” Shouts near the stairs.

Cullen wrestled with the attacker, trying not to hurt the woman when he forced her away while Solas cast a barrier. Rylen and Lysette ran over, their armor clanking as each of them took one of the woman’s arms before hauling her away.

“Put her in the farthest cell,” Cullen told them as he leaned against the wall, knife in hand. He glanced to the feverish woman. She was still tossing about, lips moving soundlessly, face scrunched in pain. His grip on the knife tightened. “Solas, are you certain she’s not what caused all of this?”

“… Yes.”

He nodded and set the knife back on the tray. “If you need anything, just ask Lysette.”

Solas inclined his head then returned to his patient. Cullen’s gaze lingered on her another moment. She certainly didn’t seem all powerful. In a crowd, he wouldn’t have given her a second glance or thought. And yet, here she lay with a mark of power on her hand while rumors spread of her being the Herald of Andraste, Chosen of the Maker.

The Maker should’ve chosen better. 


	2. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaitlyn Trevelyan and Cullen Rutherford meet for the first time. Neither is what the other expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: canon-typical violence

_Be a distraction_.

Cullen grumbled under his breath as he ran his sword through another demon, anger pulsing through his veins with every passing second. What right did the prisoner have to give orders? What had Cassandra been thinking? The woman was a _mage_. She had no military training or practice to know which path was the best to take and yet, after being conscious for a mere _ten minutes_ , the prisoner got to issue orders? He kicked the rage demon free as it went limp on his blade before bringing his sword around for the finishing blow.

“Easy there, Commander,” Rylen said beside him. “Leave a few for the rest of us to fight. We’ll look bad otherwise.”

Cullen’s lips lifted into a smile he didn’t feel. His men came around from the sides, boxing in the demons that remained in the open stretch of snow, before charging inwards to deal with what remained of this wave. There’d be a few minutes rest before the next batch came barreling over the hill towards them.

“You and you,” Cullen said, pointing to the soldiers who’d been there the longest. “Head back to Haven and take Breck and Wallace with you. Send up any reinforcements they can spare.”

“Ser!” They said with a snapped salute. The four of them limped down towards camp, passing the pair of brothers who’d perished earlier. Another two dead. And the day had barely started.

Rylen came up to him, holding out a flask that had the Chantry symbol etched into the sides. He arched a brow when Cullen started to protest and all but thrust the flask into his hands. Cullen muttered a thanks between gulps.

“Do ye think that Solas was telling the truth?” Rylen asked after Cullen handed the drained flask back to him. “About the prisoner’s mark, I mean.”

“I hope so. We don’t have any other plan.”

Rylen chuckled, the sound bitter and cold. “Ye wouldn’t think she was our only hope by the way people kept trying to kill her.”

“Someone else made an attempt?”

He nodded. “A boy half our age tried this morning. Then an elven woman right before I left. Cassandra was the one to relieve me so I doubt anyone else dared to try after that.”

“She does tend to put the fear of the Maker into people.” Cullen turned towards the Breach and frowned. Demons should’ve been rolling over the crest of the hill by now.

“Commander?”

Cullen made an absent wave, telling Rylen to stay back with the others as he walked up the hill. Screams echoed in the distance. Unsheathing his sword, he dropped into a dead sprint when the column of green light pulsed up towards the sky. It grew, brightening until it blinded, the prickling sense of magic growing with it until—with an explosive shriek like metal scraping against stone—the rift disappeared. He blinked against the light. The Breach remained above their heads but no demons came forward.

“Commander Cullen!” Someone yelled in the distance. Snow crunching underfoot. Panting. A scout—hardly out of boyhood—came running from the direction of the rift. Grinning ear to ear, he slipped in the snow only to jump back onto his feet an instant later. “She did it! The Herald closed it!”

“Where is she now?”

“She lost consciousness, but she’s alive. Seeker Cassandra was taking her back to Haven last I saw.”

“And the demons?” Cullen asked.

“Only a handful remain in the entire valley. The soldiers who were at the rift are weeding them out now.”

Cullen thanked and dismissed the scout before returning to his men. With half the group dedicated to carrying the dead back to Haven for proper rituals and burnings, he took Rylen and those who remained to join the other soldiers in the valley. It seemed impossible that he’d feared for all their lives less than an hour ago.

“I’ll root out the rest,” Rylen said after they’d spent an hour sweeping through the woods. “You’ll be expected back at Haven.”

“Send for me if you find anything.”

Men laughed and drank and applauded outside the gates of Haven. He understood the need to celebrate—to feel _alive_ after facing fear. But it still soured his stomach. They hadn’t earned celebration yet. The Breach remained. They’d lost dozens of good people. And after all that, they weren’t any closer to finding out who or what had caused this chaos in the first place.

Cullen stepped inside the gates and stopped. In stark contrast, those within the walls stood around with humbled expressions and hushed whispers. They gathered in a tight clump around one of the smaller cabins, necks craning to peek inside the singular window. The ‘Herald.’ She’d be the one they all remembered. She’d be the one they thanked and sang praises for. What about Cutler and Maxwell and Shaw? What about Thompson and Beckett? There’d be no songs or prayers for their sacrifice.

Grumbling under his breath, he stomped past the group all the way into the Chantry. Cassandra met him inside, falling into step beside him as they walked towards the war room.

“The prisoner?” he asked.

“She claims to have no memory of what happened.”

“Do you believe her?”

“… Yes. I am not without my doubts, Cullen,” she added when he rolled his eyes. “I think she was involved in the Divine’s death, but I do not believe she is responsible for it. Regardless, she helped of her own free will which was more than I expected.”

“It’s a start,” Cullen agreed begrudgingly. He frowned when Cassandra stopped short of the door. “You’re not coming in?”

“I am going to wait for the—for the _Herald_ to arrive before joining you.”

His jaw started to ache he was clenching his teeth so hard. “Not you too. Are we _really_ going to be calling her that from now on?”

“The more time that passes, the more I believe it. She is exactly what we needed to solve this problem. She was there with the Divine. And a woman was seen with her when she stepped out of the Fade. But don’t worry; I don’t think anyone will order you to call her anything you don’t want to.” She smiled at the end and he found himself smiling at her slight teasing.

He watched Cassandra as she strode towards the entrance before stepping into the war room where Josephine and Leliana were waiting. “How many men did we lose?”

“Not as many as we could have,” Leliana said. “Our scouts were particularly fortunate that the prisoner insisted on going through the pass to get them.”

Josephine cleared her throat and gave the other woman a pointed look.

“Herald,” Leliana corrected with a sigh. “The healers said she would wake at any moment.”

Cullen scowled. “Is she to give us even more orders despite knowing nothing?”

Josephine looked at him as though he’d personally insulted her while Leliana brought her fingers to her lips to hide a growing smile. “Whether she knows anything or not,” Leliana said, “it hardly matters at this point. She is able to close the rifts.”

“Which makes her a valuable asset,” Cullen said. “Not a leader.”

“Would _you_ prefer the position?” Josephine asked.

Cullen opened his mouth, then stopped short. Even if he wasn’t experiencing headaches and nightmares from his withdrawal, a Ferelden farmboy turned ex-templar wasn’t likely to win over the support of nobles. Or Orlesians. Or mages.

He sighed. “You have a point.”

Josephine kept her smirk subtle but it was there all the same. “I’ve already contacted the various branches of her family as well as the Circle to which she belonged. I believe she’ll be able to bring us much-needed support.”

Cullen chuckled to himself. Of course she’d already done that. Give Josephine a stranger and she’d know who their best friends were before the day was done.

“Very well, then,” he said when the ambassador gained an excited gleam in her eye that demanded to be shared. “What should I know of our _Herald_?”

“Lady Kaitlyn Trevelyan—though I suppose the Lady part is in name only—the oldest child by ten years, she has two twin brothers, Marcus and Anthony. Her parents sent her to the Ostwick Circle when she was—”

“Wait,” Cullen stopped her. “They _sent_ her there? Voluntarily?” It was uncommon for any family to simply hand over their child unless they’d become a danger to themselves. For a noble family to do so—especially with a firstborn—he could’ve counted the times he’d seen it happen on one hand.

Leliana spoke up. “That’s what her Grand Enchanter said in his letter. And yes,” she added when Cullen opened his mouth, “I had the source verified. The Herald was sent as his representative which is why he still lives.”

“Lucky for him,” Cullen muttered. Questions swirled on his tongue like ashes rising from a prodded fire. He sighed and let them fall when the doors of the war room opened with a loud creak. The woman was taller than he’d guessed when he’d seen her laying down. She stood a few inches above Cassandra, closer to himself in height, and she was broad in the shoulders with a rounder body. The scar around her eye was larger than he’d remembered, making a near semi-circle that started above the eyebrow and ended on her cheek. Those eyes—he hadn’t seen them clearly before, but watching them now, they burned as a deep gold while they flitted about the room, never staying on one thing for longer than a few heartbeats.

“May I present Commander Cullen,” Cassandra said with a slight gesture of her hand, “leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”

“Such as they are,” he said. “We lost many soldiers in the valley and I fear more may join them before this is through.”

The Herald gave him a slight nod as Cassandra introduced the others. Cullen watched her, assessing her. She stood straight and looked each of them in the eye when she spoke. That was a mild relief. At least she wasn’t lording herself over them like Roderick had.

“… must approach the rebel mages for help.”

Cullen blinked at the sudden swerve of conversation, latching onto the argument he and the spymaster had been dancing around earlier that day. “And I still disagree,” he said. “The templars could serve just as well.”

“We need power, Commander,” Cassandra’s voice carried a slight snarl. He knew she was as sick of this debate as he was. “Enough magic poured into that mark—”

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so—”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana interrupted.  

“ _I_ was a templar. I know what they’re capable of.”

He didn’t miss the sharp intake of breath across the table. Kaitlyn’s eyes had widened, her body stiffening while her arms drew closer to her sides as though to defend off attack. Cullen faltered. That scar he’d stared at—had a templar’s hand dealt the blow?

“ _Unfortunately_ ,” Josephine cut in with a stern look to the other three. “Neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition and you—” She inclined her head towards Kaitlyn who merely blinked. “Specifically.”

Cullen’s frustration came out as a growl. “Shouldn’t they be arguing over who’ll become the next Divine?” At every turn, for every question, the Chantry blocked them. Both the Right and Left hands of the Divine served under this cause and still the Chantry blocked them. The sky was tearing itself to pieces as civil war threatened to rip apart Orlais and _still_ the Chantry blocked them.

Josephine ignored him and continued with Kaitlyn, “Some are calling you— _a mage_ —the ‘Herald of Andraste.’ That frightens the Chantry. For harboring you, we’ve been labeled as heretics which makes approaching either the mages or the templars out of the question.”

“Wait.” Kaitlyn held up a hand, eyes shifting between the four of them. “Can we go back to the part about me being sent by Andraste? When was that decided?”

Cullen bit back a smirk at the snap in her tone. His gaze dropped towards the table as Cassandra and Leliana spoke. Kaitlyn’s hands were shaking. No. Not just her hands. Her entire body trembled. She hid it well—hiding or moving her hands, shifting between feet. But there were other signs. The rapid, shallow rise and fall of her chest. The way her eyes never stayed on one of them too long. How had he missed those?

She was terrified.

Clearing his throat, he shifted his hand away from the pommel of his blade. “ _Herald of Andraste_ ,” he said, claiming her attention. “That’s quite the title, isn’t it? How do you feel about it?”

“I wish it belonged to someone else.”

Relief calmed the lingering traces of anger in his gut. By the way everyone was acting around her, he had expected ego and arrogance and anger. This woman was none of those things. She was caught and desperate and scared; barely awake an hour and they were already giving her tasks to complete. They were turning her into a figurehead, a living banner for the hopeful to flock to. She may have been freed from her chains, but she was still a prisoner.

He groaned inwardly. He was going to have to be nicer to her after this, wasn’t he.

“Our scouts have already mapped out the area,” Leliana said, pointing out the Hinterlands where they had contacts and supplies. “Harding has gone on ahead and waits for your arrival. We’ve horses and provisions already prepared for your travels.”

“When you’re ready, of course,” Josephine added.

“Herald,” Cullen called to Kaitlyn when she turned to leave, her eyes wide and knuckles white. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

“Now?” She blinked, gaze trailing after the others as they left.

“Later would be fine if that’s best for you.”

“I… now works.” She stepped closer to the table. “Is this about the templars?”

“Yes. I understand why your initial reaction might be to go to the mages but they’re a chaotic force at the moment. People fear the damage the rebellion brought. And yes,” he added quickly when she frowned, mouth opening with the start of her objection, “I’m fully aware that the templars are just as responsible for the horrible loss of life we’ve seen. I’m not denying that. But it was magic that caused the Breach. I fear that more magic will only make our situation that much more dire.”

“And you believe that templars would be able to weaken it, yes? Is that _truly_ how you feel, Commander, or are you merely running away from the thought of being surrounded by so many uncaged mages?”

Cullen’s jaw clenched at the question. He’d feared this would happen the moment he’d heard she was a mage. This was going to be lovely.

“It _is_ what I truly believe, Herald. My own experiences have taught me all too well that mages are capable of great destruction. I don’t want to put you or anyone into a cage, as you put it, but it’d be foolish to leave mages completely unchecked. For the mages’ benefit as well as those around them. Or have you been fortunate enough to live without seeing an Abomination?”

Kaitlyn faltered. Her cheeks darkened and she looked towards her feet.

“Forgive me,” Cullen said, voice softer. Had he already gone too far? He winced at the sharp ache behind his eyes. He should’ve asked to speak later when the dull ache of lyrium’s call wasn’t chipping away at his mind. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Herald, it’s… it’s been a long day. For all of us.”

Her lips twitched with the ghost of a smile. “It takes more than that to _offend_ me, Commander.” She turned to leave, then paused. “Can I get your honest answer on something?”

“Of course.”

“With everything that’s going on—a hole in the sky, demons pouring out everywhere, the Chantry even more divided than usual—you believe this Inquisition can make a difference?”

“Without question. I won’t say that I’m glad the Chantry declared us as heretics, but this path isn’t utterly without hope. Not yet, at any rate. We have the power and the ability to act where others cannot. With that mark on your hand, we have a true chance at setting things right again. And not only to close the Breach. The Inquisition could _finally_ take a stand for peace in a world rife with chaos. Our followers would be a part of that, _you_ would be a part of that. There’s so much we could—” Cullen cleared his throat, his cheeks beginning to warm. He was getting too caught up in his own thoughts again.

“Forgive me,” he murmured. “My words seem to be running ahead of me.”

“It’s all right. I… It’s a nice change to see a templar being passionate. The ones at my Circle seemed as emotional as rocks most days.”

“An occupational hazard, I’m afraid.” He smiled when he looked at her hands: they no longer trembled. “Considering what we must do should a crisis arise—emotional distance is often better for everyone involved.”

Kaitlyn’s eyes narrowed before she gave him a slight nod. “I see.”

Cullen stepped around the table, still assessing her. She kept a set space between them, but her eyes were softer than before, more open. That was a relief. Enough of the other mages hated him on principle already. “May I ask _you_ a question, Herald?”

“If you want to.” She said. “Though considering the way that woman looked at me—Lil… Lel…”

“Leliana.”

“Yes. I felt as though she knew more about me than I did.”

“It’s quite possible. In the short time I’ve known her, I believe she’s found out everything about me. Except, perhaps, my favorite color.”

Kaitlyn glanced to his mantle, a smile growing on her lips. “Red?”

“Blue, actually. Though that information is to be kept secret.”

“My lips are sealed. Was that your question, then? Trying to find out my favorite color before your spymaster beats you to it?”

“No. I was…” Was it too much to ask? To be sent in the place of her Grand Enchanter, she had to be a mage of great skill. One who carried the confidence of her Circle. “I know that you’re from Ostwick. How is it for you? Being away, I mean.”

Her brow drew in as she considered the question. She stared at the map, eyes falling on where her Circle would’ve been. After a moment, she answered, “It hasn’t really sunk in yet. I don’t feel as though I’m actually _out_ of the Circle. There are still templars here, glaring at every mage who passes by. Chantry sisters whispering behind my back. People watching every move I make. The faces are different but everything else is the same.” She met his eye. Her gaze lingered a second too long before she turned away. “I’m sorry, Commander. It seems as though my words have gone ahead of me as well.” Turning on her heel, she marched away before he could call her back.

 

* * *

 

“She’s rather pretty, don’t you think?” Leliana stretched out on her bed, fingers running absently over the instrument she kept on her nightstand though she never once plucked a note.

“Who’s that?” Josephine asked as she crawled between her sheets, her ruffled nightgown nearly bouncing with her movements.

Cullen flushed and averted his gaze from the two women. They’d been kind, making no comment on his tendency to speak in his sleep, but he still felt like an intruder—a barely tolerated guest who was only permitted to stay because his hosts didn’t want to appear rude. Mia would’ve strangled him if she ever found out he was sharing a room with two women like this. She would’ve demanded that he try and woo one of them while he had the chance.

“Kaitlyn.” The name was almost a hum on Leliana’s lips. “She surprised me with how quickly she was willing to depart for Mother Giselle.”

“You think she’ll try to escape?” Cullen asked.

“Unlikely. She’s been cooperative so far. And even if she did try, it would be the briefest escape attempt in history. _Cassandra’s_ with her, remember?”

He smirked, resting back into his bed. He’d forgotten to change the bedding that morning and his sweat from the night before made the sheets crinkle under his weight.

“But you didn’t answer my question, Josie.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t you think she was pretty?”

“Her skin was certainly nice, though I wish she’d let me do something with that hair.” Josephine sighed. “Such a simple style. I do hope she’ll let me change it once we have nobles start to join us.”

“And you, Commander?”

“What?” He blinked, surprised to be drawn into the conversation.

“Kaitlyn,” Leliana said, a smirk growing on her lips. “You kept her behind to talk and she was there with you for quite some time. Was there something between the two of you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Cullen shifted to place his back to them, merely wanting to sink into sleep.

A pillow hit the back of his head.

“Come now,” Josephine tsked softly. “You could at least answer the question before ignoring us.”

“To be completely honest, I hadn’t particularly noticed.” He reached around and snatched the offending pillow, tucking it up with his own, smirking to himself when Josephine huffed over losing the cushion. “She seemed… fine enough, I suppose.”

Leliana groaned. “You’re _terrible_ at this.”

“That’s very true.” Cullen smirked when the conversation between the two women fell into whispers. He stared at the wall, watching the shadows flickering in the faint candlelight. _Was_ she pretty?

He rolled his eyes at the thought. Either way, it didn’t matter. She was a mage: an apostate, at that. Once the Breach was sealed and an Inquisitor chosen, he was certain she’d take her leave, perhaps going to join the other apostates at Redcliffe. Cullen closed his eyes, his mind slowly letting go of all the reports he’d read, of all the people they’d lost, of the pounding pain behind his eyes.

There were more important things to worry about than Kaitlyn Trevelyan.


	3. Making a Difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen continues to struggle through lyrium withdrawal while Kaitlyn continues to feel out of place within the Inquisition.

_Cullen—_

_Sometimes, I believe the Maker is testing me. The rebels throughout the Hinterlands refuse to see reason. Both templar and mage attack us on sight, many of them destroying civilian homes without a second thought. There is such a factual finality to the fighting that I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to convince them to stop._

_It wouldn’t be so terrible is Solas didn’t insist on searching out elven artifacts while Varric makes constant jokes at my expense._

_As for the Herald, she’s proven to be skilled with healing and barriers. While useful, she continues to flounder even with the most basic moves of fighting, preferring to focus on defense. She retreats unnecessarily when encountering rifts or rebels. The first time she had to fight a fellow mage, she was sick afterwards and did not speak again until the next day after some coaxing from Varric. I believe she will improve with training but I find myself wishing she had more of a military background; there is too much to teach her and not enough time._

_When we approached Redcliffe at her insistence, the mages kept their doors shut, claiming that no one was allowed to approach. You may have been right about reaching out to the templars instead. Hopefully, the Order will put the priority of the Breach above themselves._

_We will be on the road before this arrives._

_Maker be with you._

_Cassandra_

 

 

Cullen glanced from Cassandra’s letter to the missive Leliana had given him—it was a list of incoming supplies several pages long—to the scout standing several paces away. “Bear pelts?”

“Yes, ser,” the scout said. “A whole stack of them.”

Cullen looked back at Leliana’s report. Elfroot, iron, logging sites, recruits enough for a battalion, a promise of horses, and dozens of bear pelts.

“Are there any of the poor creatures left in the Hinterlands?” Cullen asked.

The man chuckled as he took back the report. “The Herald is using the meat and skins to help the refugees. Mother Giselle feared that they wouldn’t make it through the winter without help, but the Lady Herald is bringing in supplies by the crate. Even got the cult up in the mountains to lend food and aid.”

Cullen smiled to himself. When Kaitlyn and the others had departed, he’d expected her to return a few days later with Mother Giselle close behind, eager to press on and be free of the Inquisition she’d been coerced into. But _this_. Tending the sick, gathering food, arranging for safe passage, clearing out the rogue elements— “How are the people responding to her?”

“Better now. They were nervous at first, thought she was part of the rebels attacking everyone. Now, I don’t think they’ll ever stop talking about her.”

“Yes,” Leliana said, coming up behind the scout before dismissing him. “It’s all very heartwarming.”

“You disapprove?” Cullen asked.

“We have Mother Giselle en route from the camp. Things have been calmed; we should be focusing on the next task, not wasting time hunting down every bear wandering the mountains.”

“You could ask Cassandra to prod her along.”

Leliana pursed her lips as she glared down at the war table. “Cassandra is… encouraging the behavior. She says it’s helping the Herald get used to fighting in a group.” The spymaster waved her hand as though she thought it ridiculous. Staring at the map, she picked up three of Cullen’s markers and placed them in varying locations.

“For Master Dennet,” she explained. Cullen frowned as Josephine joined them, leaning over the board in her arms until her nose hovered mere inches from the surface.

“And the Herald chose _my_ suggestion?” Cullen asked.

“Yes,” Josephine said, voice somewhat clipped. “Though I still think it would’ve been easier merely to give the neighboring nobles a favor in exchange.”

Leliana caught Cullen’s eye and smirked. “No need to look so smug, Commander.”

“What?” He blinked, the grin falling from his face.

She moved several other markers around on the map and Cullen could nearly hear her eyes rolling as she did so. “How much did you wager Varric that the Herald would choose you for the mission?”

“I would never—”

“ _How much?_ ”

Cullen cleared his throat. “Just a few silvers.”

“Try not to hold it over him for _too_ long,” Leliana said, the corner of her mouth turning up with a faint smile.

“I make no promises.” He leaned over, watching as Josephine and Leliana checked off their lists, moving the markers around to show their progress. Two weeks had brought about more change than he’d expected: interest from nobles, a lyrium supplier, patrons with deep pockets.

It _almost_ outweighed the bickering and sneering that poured in daily from the Chantry and the living embodiment of stubborn pride, Chancellor Roderick.

“What of Trevelyan’s family?” He came around to Josephine’s marker that rested on the edge of the Free Marches. “I thought you’d heard back from them already.”

“I did,” Josephine said. She set down her quill and pinched the bridge of her nose. “The Herald made it very clear that she wanted no communication with her parents. Even _if_ her family promises riches and connections that we desperately need.” The last part came out as a grumble under the woman’s breath.

“Made it clear?” Cullen asked. “How?”

Josephine ended the sentence she was writing with a sharp jab of her quill. “I believe her exact phrase was ‘I’d rather be eaten alive by a horde of toothless nugs.’ Or something equally quaint.”

“Is that such a terrible thing?” he asked. “At the rate we’re growing, I doubt a single noble family will make a difference.”

Josephine’s shocked expression would’ve shamed a woman who’d just discovered her child was missing. “ _No difference?_ ” Her scoff was haughty and filled with a soft kind of rage he’d only seen in her when she was truly angered. “A single family, a single __name__ , can tip the balance of empires, Commander. I know that it means very little to you—that you’d rather help the refugees than the noble whose lands they live on, but trust me when I say that we need every alliance we can get.”

“My apologies,” Cullen said hastily, adding in a slight bow to show his sincerity. “I merely thought… never mind.” She was right. She always was with such matters—but it still felt unfair to press this on the Herald when she was already on a mission. He changed the topic. “Do you know when the Herald’s party is set to return? Cassandra’s letter indicated that it would be soon.”

“Mother Giselle should be here before nightfall,” Leliana said. “Our scouts are escorting her through the final leagues. As for Trevelyan…” She placed her hands flat on the table, shoulders sinking in defeated frustration. “That is harder to determine. I sent another letter to Cassandra just now urging her to speed things along. At the rate the Herald is going, she will have personally met with and saved every person in that valley before the week is out.”

She shifted another marker. “We should focus on other matters in the meantime. There are rumors coming out of Val Royeaux.”

“More than usual?” Josephine asked with a laugh.

Cullen rubbed his forehead. Chancellor Roderick was reminder enough of the Chantry’s standpoint on the Inquisition. He didn’t think he’d be able to cope with an entire square full of people like him. “Let them speak: all they have is words.”

“Words can still bury us, Commander,” Josephine said. “Having the Herald address them in person after she returns might not be a bad idea.”

“You can’t be serious,” Cullen protested. “That’s like leading her to the edge of a cliff and asking our enemies not to shove her off.”

Josephine pressed on. “The Chantry’s only strength at the moment is that they are united in opinion. If we could get them to split—even just a handful—then we would be better able to—”

“It won’t matter if one of them manages to kill the Herald in the meantime,” Leliana said. Cullen nodded in agreement and the ambassador merely sighed.

“Then we’ll let the Herald decide for herself once she’s returned,” Josephine said. “Agreed?”

Cullen and Leliana mumbled their consent. Cullen stayed back to study the map well after the other two had left. He made a mental note of where he was to send his forces, already deciding which men would be best suited for each task.

_You believe this Inquisition can make a difference?_

He’d believed it so strongly when she’d asked. Without question. Yes, they were going to make a difference. They were going to—Cullen winced at the dull tug of pain and brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck. He groaned, half-falling onto the table when the pain sharpened. The lyrium in his blood sang. It cried for more, his body begging him to give into the need for that power he’d known for so long.

Cullen’s eye drifted to one of the shelves. On it sat a batch of lyrium for the mages and templars already stationed around Haven. He licked his lips. His fingers twitched with the desire to uncork one of the bottles, to feel the calming tingle as the lyrium slid down his throat. He’d feel better; he’d __be__ better.

He stepped towards the case.

“No!”

Hands shaking, he tore from the room at a march, plowing through small clusters of people until he was outside with the training recruits. Panting softly, he leaned against the nearby wall, eyes clenching against the brightness of the sun. He wished Cassandra were here. He needed someone to talk to—someone who understood what was happening to him.

The twitching of his hands faded to a slight tremor as he sucked in the cold mountain air with deep breaths. He would make it through this. The Inquisition would make it through this.

Thedas depended on it.

 

* * *

 

Kaitlyn scowled as she shifted on her mount for the hundredth time since noon. She’d hardly seen a horse since she’d been sent to the Circle, let alone _rode_ one. The constant bumping, rubbing, wearing: her thighs itched and burned, and the ointment Cassandra had given her did little to help. She fell behind another few horses as she adjusted herself again.

“Here to keep me company?”

She smiled at Varric, nudging her horse over to his. Despite the relaxed posture and easy smile, his eyes twitched at every sudden jolt and sharp turn. “If you’ll have me.”

“Wouldn’t want anyone else.”

Kaitlyn chuckled at his exaggerated wink. “Do you think it’ll be much longer till we reach Haven?”

“See the way Seeker keeps fidgeting like that? Like she’s checking behind every rock and piece of shrubbery for bandits? Or how she winds the reins in her hand before shaking them loose. She only does stuff like that when we’re close to reaching our destination. I suspect we’ll be able to see Haven any minute now.”

“You watch her often?”

Varric’s body shook with his laugh. “It’s nothing like _that._ How a person moves can tell you a lot about them. I like to watch people sometimes. Get to know them long before they ever open their mouths. And when it comes to the Seeker,” he trailed off with a deep sigh. “I’ve had enough up-close observation with her to last a lifetime.”

Kaitlyn glanced to Cassandra, noticing how she wound the leather strap tight around her palm before letting it go lax again. She and Varric had been exchanging quips and snaps at each other since the moment they’d left Haven and Kaitlyn still couldn’t decide if it was because there was bad blood between them or if it was because they liked each other but didn’t want to admit it.

“Could I…” She trailed off as her cheeks began to warm, feeling like a child who needed to ask for permission before doing anything. “Varric, um… it wouldn’t be strange if I asked about Hawke, would it?”

“So long as it’s _just_ asking.” He shot another glare at the back of Cassandra’s head. “And __yes__ , before you start, Orsino really did turn into a giant abomination at the end. I may have taken the occasional creative license in my story, but _that_ part really happened.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” she said without a single clue as to what he was talking about. She’d heard only the most basic details about Hawke and her family and their struggles in Kirkwall. “The thing is… I was wondering if maybe you had a copy I could borrow? My Circle never added it to their library; something about a mage with a powerful title in a powerful city didn’t seem to sit well with the templars.”

Varric snorted. “Can’t imagine why. A mage leading a rebellion that eventually defeats a Knight-Commander as her own templars turn against her? Why __wouldn’t__ every Circle want to have a book like that?”

“Exactly.” She laughed, the tension easing from her white-knuckled hands. “The thing is: I found a copy in Haven, but it looked like someone had stabbed it? I was wondering if—”

Varric pulled on the reins, forcing his horse to stop. Kaitlyn blinked at the sudden change, fearing she’d said something wrong. “Did I…” She moved closer, head tilting to the side. He wasn’t angry. He was _laughing_. Tight-lipped, red-faced, hand over his mouth to keep the sound in _laughing._ “What did I say?”

He shook his head.

“Varric?”

Another shake.

Kaitlyn scoffed, urging her horse forward when he called her back.

“Wait, I—” He wiped away a tear that had formed in the corner of his eye. “Andraste bless her, I _knew_ she’d held onto that copy. Hawke’s going to owe me fifteen sovereigns over this.”

She arched an eyebrow at the excitement bubbling in Varric’s eyes. “I thought you didn’t know where Hawke was.”

The laughter died in Varric’s face. “I don’t. Not at this _exact_ moment.” He pulled sharply towards her, gaze flicking to the front where Cassandra and Master Dennet were leading the horses. “You’re not going to tell her, are you?”

Kaitlyn smirked. “That depends. Do you have a copy of the book I can read?”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to scrounge up a copy for the infamous Herald of Andraste.”

Her gaze fell to her lap when he used the title. Most of the time, the words fell over her like rain—fleeting and insignificant. On Varric’s tongue, the title felt like tidal wave crashing down with the promise to drown her. She didn’t want to be the Herald of anyone, let alone Herald to the bride of the Maker. She didn’t want to be Lady Trevelyan. She didn’t even want to be a mage. She wanted to be Kaitlyn first and foremost. Just once.

“You all right?”

Kaitlyn blinked at the question. “Yeah, I’m… tired. Good, but tired.”

“Somehow, I doubt that. After all that weird shit you’ve been put through? ‘Barely holding it together’ seems more appropriate.”

“Thanks, Varric. And here I was trying _not_ to wallow in self-pity for the next few hours.”

“All part of my charm.” He winked again and she couldn’t help but smile. Varric was kind. Hard to read at times, but always kind.

“What are you two doing back there?” Cassandra called out.

“Nothing important, Seeker,” Varric said. “Just the usual: plotting the downfall of man so that the Dwarves and Elves can take their rightful place as Thedas’ overlords.”

Solas pressed a few slender fingers to his mouth, lips curling with a suppressed smile as Cassandra rolled her eyes with a blunt noise of disgust.

“At least someone thinks I’m funny,” Varric muttered under his breath.

Kaitlyn chuckled softly before pulling on the reins enough to slow her horse down by a handful of steps. She dropped behind Varric, continuing to slow her mount bit by bit—careful not to rouse Cassandra’s anger—until she lagged a good thirty paces behind the rest of the party. When the others turned a sharp corner, she was alone for a few wonderful seconds. It was, pathetically, the most privacy she’d had in twenty years.

At the Circle, her room had been shared with three other mages. She’d managed to keep a small box of treasures hidden—the first book Andrew gave her, a sketch of a bird, rocks she’d found interesting, and other trinkets—but the rest of her daily life was exposed for everyone else to see. What she ate. When she slept.

Perhaps that little box had never been hidden from them at all. Not that she’d ever find out. The templars had likely discovered and thrown it away by now.

The Inquisition was incredibly worse. Though she shared her cabin with no one, there were always noses pressed up against the windows as visitors tried to glimpse the famed Herald. Nobles tried to talk to her about her family. Strangers knew her favorite foods and songs. Templars watched her with suspicious eyes while mages watched her with envious ones. Even Cassandra, who often dismissed those lingering about her, kept a watchful eye.

The Seeker made a terrible spy. She took notes and wrote reports when she thought the others weren’t looking right after announcing that she needed _utter privacy for Inquisition business_. Oftentimes, she’d give them an entire lecture on the need to self-reflect before dashing away into her tent with the ties done up in complicated knots that even Solas would never be able to unravel.

Kaitlyn added a bit more distance between her and Varric.

And then there was Commander Cullen. Yet another templar in charge of her. She’d almost died of shock when he didn’t insist on taking her staff away at their first meeting. Not that it’d make much of a difference in a fight against him. While she’d never gone up against a templar herself, she’d seen what’d happened to mages who’d tried: nothing. Stripped of all ability, they were left confused and powerless as though more than just their magic were being suppressed. Kaitlyn’s fingers brushed along the hilt of a dagger she’d found in the Hinterlands. She wasn’t going to let that happen to her.

 

* * *

 

 

Kaitlyn wanted to cry when her feet hit solid ground. Her legs felt bowed and tightened and she wobbled when she attempted to walk away from the stables.

“You need to practice riding more,” Cassandra said as she hooked an arm around Kaitlyn’s middle.

“It’s not _my_ fault that they don’t teach horseback riding at the Circle.”

The Seeker pursed her lips and Kaitlyn mumbled an apology. Herald or not, it had only been a few weeks since Kaitlyn was on her knees with this woman’s sword pressed against her throat.

“I’ll add it to my list of things to learn,” Kaitlyn said. “At the top of the list,” she added when Cassandra’s eyes narrowed.

The Seeker left her at the gates, mentioning the need to discuss something with the soldiers. Limping inside, Kaitlyn stretched out her legs and hips with every step and wondered if this was what demons felt like possessing a body for the first time: stubborn limbs and sore skin stretching over an aching back.

“ _Your kind killed the Most Holy!_ ”

Kaitlyn grimaced when she forced her body to scale the final flight of steps towards the Chantry.

“Lies!” A mage yelled, glaring at the templar across from him. “It was your kind who let her die!”

The growing crowd clustered around the pair, splitting in a clear divide between mage and templar. Lightning crackled across closed fists. The familiar blue glow filled several of the templars’ eyes as they prepared to subdue the apostates. Even the Chantry sisters took opposing sides of the debate.

“Shut your mouth, mage, or I’ll shut it for you.”

Kaitlyn ran forward, fists tightening along with her chest. Didn’t they realize that they had to let go of the past? Didn’t they understand that if they didn’t destroy the divide between mages and templars that the chaos would consume them all?

“Enough!”

Kaitlyn’s mouth hung open. She blinked. Standing at the inner ring of the crowd, a mere arm’s length away from the snarling pair, the word hadn’t come from her, but Cullen.

The Commander barreled through, pushing the mage and templar apart. He kept his hand to the templars chest in a silent threat.

“Knight-Captain, I—”

Cullen reared on him. “That is not my title. We are __not__ templars any longer. We are _all_ part of the Inquisition.” His eyes swept across the gathered group to make it clear that no one could escape his words. Her heart swelled when his gaze lingered on her for a brief moment. It was a silly thing, perhaps—small and insignificant for certain—but he’d turned his back on the mages. He’d exposed himself with no shield or weapon to protect him, turning to glare at those who had once served in his beloved Order.

Maybe there was hope for the Commander after all.

A reedy voice from the background snapped Kaitlyn back to the present. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

“Back already, Chancellor?” Cullen’s face soured with a scowl. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“I was curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its ‘Herald’ will restore order as you’ve promised.” His voice rose as he spoke in an obvious attempt to force the attention on himself.

Cullen’s lip turned up in disgust. “Of course you are.” Turning to the others, he dismissed them with a sharp wave of his hand. “Back to your duties, all of you!”

The single gesture caused the group to splinter. Sisters drifted to their spots around the camp, Templars resumed their positions around the perimeter with the rest of the soldiers. Even the mages departed in silence, returning to the healers’ tents and apothecary.

Kaitlyn stepped closer and Cullen gave her a brief nod before returning to his conversation. “You can moan and gripe all you like about the situation, but mages and templars were already at war long before the Inquisition came to be.”

“Which is why we require a _proper_ authority to guide them back to order.”

“And who would you have that be? _You?_ ” Cullen scoffed and Kaitlyn smirked at how freely he defied the Chancellor. “Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the Conclave?”

“And you would rather have this rebel Inquisition and its so-called ‘Herald of Andraste’ take charge?” Roderick shot her a glare, face twisting with his sneer. She could see the message in his eyes: mage, apostate, filth. “ _I think not _.__ ”

“Of course you should be in charge, Chancellor,” Kaitlyn said.

Cullen’s eyes widened as he took a half-step towards her, a touch of panic leaking into his expression.

She continued, “First, you’ll need to find a way to close the Breach. So far, I’m the only one who can seem to close these annoying rifts. Perhaps you saw one of them from your padded carriage as you arrived? I hear they’re popping up absolutely everywhere. So you’ll have to take care of that first. Then you’ll need to arrange for transportation, food, clothing, weapons, mounts, and general supplies for every member under your care—you’ll also have to pay for all of it. And most importantly, you’ll have to make sure that none of the mages or templars kill any of the others; you wouldn’t want _another_ war to break out on your hands right here in Haven and—”

“I get your point,” Roderick hissed through clenched teeth.

Kaitlyn forced a smile, making her voice honey sweet before she asked Cullen, “Please remind me why we’ve allowed our illustrious guest to stay?”

“Clearly, your _templar_ knows where to draw the line.” Roderick snapped as he gave them what barely passed for a bow before huffing off at a march.

“He’s toothless,” Cullen snarled. He winced slightly and she wondered if it was from Roderick’s tone behind the world ‘templar.’ Unlikely. Cullen seemed too disciplined to let personal comments like that bother him. “There’s no point in turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth. The chancellor’s a good indicator of what to expect in Val Royeaux, however.”

Cullen blinked then turned to her as though he was realizing she was there for the first time in the conversation. “You’re back.”

“Is that just becoming obvious now?”

“No. Yes. I—I mean.” He pinched the bridge of his nose for a half-second before he straightened. “Leliana, Josephine, and I were discussing what our next move would be. Josephine thinks it would be help things along if you went to Val Royeaux yourself to meet with the other clerics in person.”

“In person? As in, personally meet with people who’d burn me faster than Maferath turned on Andraste?”

“… Yes.”

She straightened when he held her gaze. “You’re not joking.”

“I wish I were.”

Kaitlyn sighed and buried her face in her hands. “This isn’t ever going to get easier, is it?” She looked up in time to see his arm stretched out towards her. He cleared his throat, hand diverting up to his neck.

“No, it’s not,” he said. “But for now, let’s focus on closing the Breach.” He gestured towards the Chantry doors, letting her walk ahead of him. “Have you decided who you want to go to for aid?”

She pursed her lips, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer. She waited until she stood with the other advisors, door shut behind them before telling him, “The mages at Redcliffe are right to keep out people they don’t know. I’ll talk to the templars, but if comes down to picking one group over the other, I will side with the mages.”

The muscles in Cullen’s jaw flexed and the hand beside his pommel tightened into a fist before his body relaxed with a heavy sigh. “I understand,” he said through clenched teeth. “I suppose I should be used to mages disliking templars on principle, considering all that’s happened.”

Leliana’s chuckle cut off Kaitlyn’s response. “From what I’ve heard, the Herald doesn’t have that _particular_ problem.”

“I—” Kaitlyn flushed before rounding on Josephine. “You _told_ her?”

The woman retreated behind her board even as a smile curled her lips. “Forgive me. I didn’t know it was a secret.”

“It’s no matter,” Leliana said with a wave of her hand. “I would’ve found out eventually.”

“What’s a secret?” Cullen asked.

“Nothing!” Kaitlyn said before either of the other women could respond. Her cheeks warmed under their smirks. She should never have said anything about Andrew. She’d endured enough teasing at the Circle over her ill-guided infatuation; she didn’t need it here too. Cullen stared at her, eyebrow raised in question.

“It’s _nothing_ ,” she repeated, knowing her cheeks were tinted red from the way her skin burned. Snatching up the iron marker from the Hinterlands which was used to display her party’s location, Kaitlyn slammed it down onto Val Royeaux with enough force to send the other pieces toppling. “I’ll leave tomorrow.”

“So soon?” Leliana asked. “But what about—?”

Kaitlyn turned, already beginning to walk away.

“Herald!”

“You said it was urgent, didn’t you? Your letters kept telling me to go faster. So this is me, going faster. I’ve got things to prepare.”

“But there’s news of a Warden in the Hinterlands, and we had a young man here earlier about mercenaries on the coast, and—”

“Yes to all of it,” Kaitlyn said.

“ _Herald!_ ”

Kaitlyn spun on her heel, continuing to back towards the door. “We’re not in a position to turn away allies. Write everything down and I’ll get it done.”

“But Herald, I need to—”

“I’ll get it done, Leliana.” Kaitlyn grinned despite the growing ache of her body that screamed in protest with every step. The mere thought of riding for days on end made her legs tremble in dread, but it would be worth it. They’d get the mages, seal the Breach. The others could figure out what happened to the Divine. She wanted no part of it. She wanted to walk freely about a marketplace for the first time in her life. No family. No templars. No Seekers. Just freedom.


	4. The Sweeter Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaitlyn and Cullen share a moment of camaraderie before Kaitlyn presses on to Val Royeaux.

Cullen awoke to the sound of screams. He panted in his bed, hand darting under his pillow where he kept a knife. Heart beating wildly, his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room by slow degrees, revealing a sleeping Josephine and Leliana safe in their beds. He swallowed hard and forced his fingers to let go of the comforting metal in his palm as the screams inside his head dimmed to a whimper. Shaking the nightmares free as best he could, he slid from his bed and dressed and groomed himself in the darkness. He didn’t bother with the armor. With the demons cleared from the valley, there was no need to wear the heavy pieces, and he doubted he could bear the weight so early in the morning.

With a strip of dried meat and slice of stale bread, he walked out into the camp. It wasn’t yet dawn and, with the exception of a dozing guard, the land was utterly still. The crunch of snow under his feet was thunderous in the silence. Even chewing the bread between his teeth felt like an intrusion as he made his way down towards the main gate. They were already open and even from his position, he glimpsed the training dummies set near the shore of the frozen lake.  

“ _Fuck!_ ”

Cullen froze on the steps then scurried to the half-opened door where he could spy while remaining out of sight.

The Herald stood in front of the wooden men, her breath leaving her in ragged puffs that crystalized around her. Her hair was disheveled around her face; it stuck to her skin here and there where sweat held it in place. She was shaking her right hand, pacing back and forth and cursing under her breath. On the ground beside her was a bow, a quiver filled with arrows, and her staff.

Chuckling under his breath, Cullen eased his head farther out. The arrow she’d released had missed her target by at least a dozen yards to land harmlessly in a snow bank. Kaitlyn continued to shake her hand for another moment before kicking the bow away like a child might kick away a toy that had fallen out of favor. Snatching up her staff, she twirled it effortlessly in her hands before holding it a few inches from her chest. A few deep breaths. She slammed the end of her staff into the ground; ice burst around the dummy, encasing it. She jerked her staff to the side with a low snarl and the dummy _shattered_ , dispersing into thousands of slivers of ice that scattered on the faint breeze.

Kaitlyn’s knees bent and she stumbled to the side, slumping against her staff. She seemed one gust of wind away from falling into the snow. Cullen stepped forward, hardly believing what he’d seen.

“Who’s there?”

Cullen stiffened at the muffled voice. Kaitlyn’s head snapped to the side in the direction the voice had come from before she disappeared in a bending wave of blue light, reappearing over fifteen paces away where she continued her escape at a dead run.

“Hello?” the voice called again. It was the guard who’d been dozing. She came around the main gates, eyes still blinking away sleep.

“It’s only me,” Cullen said. He walked to where Kaitlyn had been a moment before and picked up her bow and quiver. Running his fingers along the length of wood, he smiled, remembering how horrible his own first attempt at the weapon had been.

“Ser?”

“Just came out for some fresh air,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.”

She leaned slightly to one side, looking over his shoulder to the obliterated dummy. He managed a smile and, after an awkward moment of narrowed eyes, she started back towards her post. Cullen watched her, waiting until she was out of view, before following after Kaitlyn’s footsteps. It’s not as though she had anywhere to go. The nearest town was several hours’ ride away. Except for the occasional bit of shrubbery and skittering creature, the place was barren of life.

But then—why run at all?

Cullen looked down at the bow he held. There was no reason for her to keep it a secret. She was expected to learn how to fight. She _needed_ to learn.

“Herald?” he called out, reveling in the fresh air. It drove away the ache and let him feel like himself again, if just for a moment. “Herald, are you out there?”

He continued following her trail—easier to see now that the sky was lightening in anticipation of the sun—up towards the bridge that led to the ruins of the Temple. The bridge where they’d stacked their dead. She stood there, staff held limply in her fingers. With her free hand over her mouth, her head turned from side to side and he knew that she was counting the bodies.

“Herald?” he asked again, softer this time.

“Why are they still here?” She didn’t look at him as she walked farther away, body trembling as it had when they’d first met. “It’s been weeks. Or— _Maker’s breath_ —are these new casualties? Are things still so bad?”

“No, they’re not new.” Cullen came up next to her. He kept his distance, aware of the way she shifted out of range so she remained at least an arm’s length away. “These are the ones still waiting for the proper scripts from their home Chantries—and other ritualistic items for those who aren't Andrastian. It should only be a few more days until the letters arrive, and then they’ll be properly blessed and burned.”

“I… I see.” Her fingers tightened on her staff as she drew it closer to her. She shook her head, face going a shade or two paler. “How many? How many more were there to start with?”

He pursed his lips. She turned on him, eyes widening at his expression.

“How many?” When he didn’t answer, she took a step towards him and asked again, “ _How many, Commander?_ ”

“From the beginning of the explosion to when you sealed the rift, at least five times this number.”

“Plus all those who died in the Temple?”

“… Yes.”

She stared at him. Then, without so much as a word, she sat down in the snow.

“Herald?”

“What if it really _is_ my fault?” she asked, soft enough he barely heard. “There are gaps in my memory. I can remember arriving at the Temple, sitting with the other mages, seeing the Divine. But then—” She dropped her staff on the ground beside her and rubbed her eyes. “There was water everywhere. I felt it burning in my lungs. I was drowning. I don’t know how that’s possible but I know it’s the truth. And then a woman appeared; she reached down to me, pulled me up. She said… She said… _Urgh_ , I can’t remember! It’s there. I know it’s there but no matter how hard I try, I can’t hear the words.”

“Solas has told everyone that it’s not possible for a single mage to have done this.”

“So what if there was a group of us?” She stared up at him, eyes confused and pleading for answers. “What if we were coerced or… or what if this was planned. What if—”

“Is that what you believe?” He sat down beside her. She didn’t move away this time. “That you caused the explosion?”

“ _No_.”

“Then, for now, let’s assume you’re innocent.”

“But why did I survive?” She leaned forward, close enough for him to know that she smelled of sweat and snow and freshly baked bread. “I must’ve been involved somehow.”

“What of Andraste? You are, after all, her Herald.”

Her laugh was strained, almost spiteful. “If it _was_ her, then she could’ve been a bit more helpful in telling me what I’m supposed to be doing with this blasted thing.” She cradled the hand that bore the mark. Even through the gloves she wore, it glowed faintly.

“Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes.” She flexed her fingers. Her eyes moved back to him; they lingered on his face. “How did you know I was up here?”

He held up the bow for her to see and she flushed.

“I’m not very good,” she said.

“Perhaps not at the bow, but I’ve never seen someone use ice like that before.”

Her cheeks darkened further and she became intensely interested in her fingernails. “It’s not _that_ uncommon.”

“Yes, it is. I’ve seen Winter’s Grasp before, but that was… I don’t know what that was. You _obliterated_ it.”

“Cassandra told me to fight more.” She snatched up her staff and scrambled to her feet. “I’m only doing what she wants. It’s not as though I’ve actually used that on a person yet. I’m still—”

“I’m not criticizing.” He got to his feet and brushed the snow from his backside. He kept his distance. “I was impressed. It takes a lot of control to do something like that without any collateral damage. As for the bow—” He stared down at the weapon. She had hidden the practice for some reason, but _why_? “I can teach you, if you like.”

“You’d do that?”

“It’s a good skill for you to have,” he said before offering it to her.

She snatched it from him as though he would take it back if she hesitated too long. “All right, then. When we return from Val Royeaux.”

“I’ll be here.”

She smiled then glanced him over. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Freezing,” he said with a laugh. “Can we go back to Haven now?”

She hesitated. Turning to study the bodies once more, she worried her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before nodding. “All right.”

He kept up the distance between them and she did the same. They walked in silence, her hands clenched knuckle-white tight around the weapons all the way back to Haven where she hung the bow up with mild reluctance. The blacksmith and his apprentices were up and about, hammering a steady beat. They were almost to the gates when he stopped.

“Herald?”

“Hmm?”

“At Val Royeaux—whatever happens, know that the Inquisition is behind you.”

She smiled and he wondered if she knew that people had tried to take her life while she’d been sleeping. If she knew how people had raged and cursed and riled against her while she’d lingered on the brink of death. He shook his head, wanting to laugh at himself. She knew. The way she kept her body closed, how she held her weapons, the way her eyes flicked to every shadow—of course, she knew.

“Is that an official statement?”

“It is,” he said. “And here’s an order for you, Herald: come back in one piece.”

Kaitlyn’s eyes widened a fraction before her face softened with a borderline smile. “I’ll do my best, Commander.”

 

* * *

 

Kaitlyn pressed her nose up against the glass until it was squashed flat.

Sweet buns, little cakes, and decorated pastries sat in neat piles inside the shop window. Her mouth watered as she stared at them, wondering if they’d taste half as good as they appeared.

“Herald,” Cassandra called, voice sharp and strained, “The mothers will be _waiting_ for us.”

“Along with a bunch of templars, apparently,” Varric added under his breath.

“I still cannot believe it,” Cassandra said. “I _know_ Lord Seeker Lucius. I can’t imagine him coming to the Chantry’s defense, not after all that’s occurred.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Kaitlyn said, fighting off her pout as she finally pulled herself away from the lure of chocolate. “I doubt he was thrilled to hear that the Inquisition had named a mage as the Herald of Andraste.”

“Even so,” Cassandra said, “to say that they are protecting people from us— _we_ are the only ones trying to close the Breach!”

Varric put a hand on Cassandra’s arm when her hands clenched into fists. “I think she knows that, Seeker.”

“Thank you, Varric,” Cassandra snapped. “But you can—”

“ _Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!_ ”

Kaitlyn walked around the pair of them and into the main square where nobles and commoners from all over the city were gathering. The woman who’d spoken was dressed in traditional Chantry robes, her head piously covered as she preached to the mixed crowd. The woman’s worn eyes flicked to Kaitlyn’s face and a ghost of a sneer pulled at her lips. “Together we mourn our Divine. Her naïve and beautiful heart silenced by treachery. You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more. Behold—” She threw out her arm in Kaitlyn’s direction, her sneer no longer subtle. “The so-called Herald of Andraste. Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this is a false prophet. The Maker would send no _mage_ in our hour of need!”

Kaitlyn glared up at her, feeling the chill of frost begin to build between her fingers. How dare she. How _dare_ she! Standing there above the rest as though she was better, preaching about things she didn’t understand to people she cared nothing about. Any member of the Chantry who turned their backs on those in need had no right to wear those robes.

“Easy there,” Varric muttered at Kaitlyn’s side.

“Do not give into anger,” Solas said. “Do not give them more reason to denounce you.”

“I know that,” Kaitlyn growled through clenched teeth. Tightening her fists until her fingers ached, she feared her fingers might freeze. With a haggard sigh, she released her rage, splinters of ice falling to the ground beside her feet. She stepped forward and addressed the crowd instead.

“Believe whatever you want about me. That’s not why I’m here. That’s not why the _Inquisition_ is here. The sky is torn apart; you’ve seen it, we’ve all seen it. I’m not here to be your prophet. I’m not here to tell you the will of Andraste. I’m here to ask for your help before the Breach dooms us all.”

“It’s true!” Cassandra rushed forward, eyes shifting between faces and masks as she spoke, _pleading_ with the crowd. “The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late.”

“It is already too late,” the mother spat. “The templars have returned to the Chantry. They will face this ‘Inquisition,’ and the people will be safe from your lies once more.”

The dark-skinned templar off to the side puffed out his chest, his green eyes nearly glowing with the smile he couldn’t show.

“Lord Seeker,” Cassandra whispered under her breath as a set of men dressed in full Templar armor marched onto the dais. Lucius glanced the mother over once before passing by. The mother took a single step towards him before she crashed onto her knees. The man behind her shook out his fist, fingers running over the knuckles that had smashed into her head.

“What are you—”

Solas caught Kaitlyn’s arm as she lurched forward, stopping her with a swift shake of his head. He was right; she knew it. Attacking a group of templars in the middle of the square would confirm everything the people believed about the Inquisition; everything they believed about mages; everything they believed about _her_. Kaitlyn stood by and watched. And she hated herself for it.

“Still yourself,” Lucius said to the green-eyed templar as he stared at the felled mother, shock clear in his face. “She is beneath us.”

“You have no right to do this!” Kaitlyn hissed at him.

“I am the only one with any ‘right’ here. _You_ are the imposter. And you,” his cold eyes fell on Cassandra. “Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed. The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages. _You_ are the ones who have failed.”

“Purge mages?” Kaitlyn scoffed. “Is that all we are to you now? Some disease meant to be burned away.” The templar behind the Lord Seeker turned to her, the doubt deepening in his face. Kaitlyn pressed on. “The templars were created to protect mages—to _help_ us. I know that some of you must still believe that or you never would’ve sworn your lives to the Order. One of your own commands the Inquisition’s forces. When the time came to act, he joined the Inquisition and believes in it more than anyone else I know. Join us now, as he did. Mages and templars need to stop this war before the world crumbles around us. As a _mage_ , I am asking you for your help once more.”

The green-eyed man stepped forward. Lucius flung an arm in his path.

“It is _because_ you are a mage that your ties are worthless,” Lucius said, the contempt in his voice a nearly tangible thing. “This templar you speak of is a traitor just by being in your company.”

“But Lord Seeker,” the templar said, “what if she really was sent by the Maker? What if—?”

The man who’d punched the mother stalked up to him, shutting his doubting words off with a hard glare and a snarl. “You are called to a higher purpose. It is not your place to question.”

Lucius’s gaze turned to Kaitlyn and she struggled not to shudder in disgust. “You have shown me nothing,” he said, “and the Inquisition—less than nothing. Templars, Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection. We march!”

Kaitlyn caught the attention of the green-eyed templar and stepped towards him, silently pleading for him to join their side. If they could return to Haven with just one—one single templar to show that there could be peace between the two factions. She groaned when he turned away to follow after the others.

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” Varric said under his breath.

“I don’t understand it.” Cassandra sat down on the nearby steps, her eyes focused on some far-off point. “He must be mad. Lord Seeker would never… he would _never_ …” She shook herself as though waking from a nightmare. “There must be those in the Order who see what he’s become. I cannot be alone in this.”

Kaitlyn left Cassandra and Varric, their voices joining the twittering and buzzing of the crowd. No one stepped forward to help the woman curled on the ground. No one spoke out against the templars and their confession of ‘purging’ mages. Disappointment swelled in her chest as she walked onto the dais. For years, she’d wanted to be able to live outside the Circle, to walk among people whenever and wherever she chose, but the First Enchanter had been right—mages could never truly be free until people stopped being afraid.

“Don’t touch me,” the woman hissed when Kaitlyn knelt before her.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” She reached out, sparks of green weaving between her fingers. “I want to help.”

“Why… why would _you_ …?”

Kaitlyn pressed her hand gently to the back of the woman’s neck, concentrating as the magic sought out the injuries. “Why not?” she asked. “I’m not the monster that you fear me to be. I’m just trying to help, to keep things from getting worse.” Energy drained from her, leaving her limbs weak. She started to pull away when a bony hand latched around her wrist.

“Do you—” the woman swallowed hard, eyes laced with dread. “Do _you_ believe that you were sent by Andraste?”

Kaitlyn stuttered as she considered the question. Herald of Andraste. The title seeped through her skin and made her chest tight. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “It’s possible, but I… I just don’t know.”

“Thank you.” The grip fell from Kaitlyn’s wrist. “That is more comforting than you realize.”

Kaitlyn stared at her, at all of them—their words of hate fizzled and died in the air as fear and doubt claimed their hearts. “You can still help us. It’s not too late. The Inquisition only means to help bring peace to the chaos.”

“You don’t know what you ask, Herald. Without the templars, we… you don’t know what you ask.”

Solas stepped up to Kaitlyn, fingers brushing along her elbow to claim her attention. “Perhaps we should take our leave. Our purpose here is finished.”

“Actually,” a woman said as she separated from the dissipating crowd, “I was wondering if _I_ might have a moment of your time?” The elven woman was petite with brown skin free of Vallaslin. When she tilted her head forward in a subtle bow, her black hair fell across her face.

“I didn’t expect to see the Grand Enchanter here.” Kaitlyn returned the bow, her palms growing slick. She’d heard tales of the former Grey Warden through other mages. The only one known to have defeated the taint within themselves. An elf who rose through the ranks and earned the respect of nearly every Circle throughout Thedas. To actually see Fiona standing before her—Kaitlyn hoped her heart would stop pounding before the woman noticed.

“Is it not dangerous for you to be here?” Solas asked.

“I heard of this gathering, and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes.” Fiona’s expression softened as her gaze swept over Kaitlyn. “If it’s help with the Breach you seek, perhaps you should look among your fellow mages.”

“I tried. I—I mean I wanted to. No one in Redcliffe would let us in and all of our messengers were turned away. Believe me, the mages were— _are_ —my first choice!” The hairs on the back of Kaitlyn’s neck pricked when she felt

Cassandra’s glare.

“The Inquisition was too much of an unknown before,” Fiona said. “But we’re willing and ready now to accept your offer. An alliance could help us both, after all.”

“Yes!” Kaitlyn stepped forward. Warmth spread across her cheeks; she was being too eager, but she couldn’t help it. _The_ Grand Enchanter Fiona. “I agree with you completely. We’d be honored to have your help.”

“Honored?” Fiona chuckled under her breath. “That would be a welcome change in our circumstances. Considering the importance of this issue, shall we continue on to Redcliffe together?”

“Y—”

“No,” Cassandra interrupted. “Thank you, Grand Enchanter, but this is something we should discuss as a whole before deciding on anything.”

Kaitlyn turned to the Seeker, hardly able to contain her scowl. First, they wanted her to make decisions and take responsibility but whenever sh picked a choice they didn’t like, it went to _oh no, we have to choose as a group_. Typical. Not that her answer was going to change, no matter how much Cassandra and Cullen tried to persuade her. She _might_ have considered asking the templars for help before, but after the way Lucius had behaved, that inclination was dead and buried.

“We can go to Redcliffe and see what their situation is, Cassandra,” Kaitlyn said, words slow as she tried to keep the frustration out of her tone. “And _then_ report back to Haven.”

“Whatever you decide,” Fiona said, cutting off Cassandra’s response, “know that we will be waiting to hear from you. Until then, Lady Herald.”

Kaitlyn’s bow felt stiff and awkward as the mage left as quietly as she’d arrived.

“I would still prefer to seek out the templars first,” Cassandra said, surprising absolutely no one. “Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember. There must be those among the Order who see that.”

“Can’t we at least visit the mages?” Kaitlyn asked. “It’s not like they’re demanding anything.”

“Oh no,” Cassandra said. “They just want more support for their cause no matter what it may cost us to give it to them.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Kaitlyn asked. She turned on the Seeker, fear trickling down her spine. Cassandra was kind at heart, Kaitlyn had witnessed it first hand, but Cassandra could still make her scream and writhe in pain at the slightest whim. “Is it so terrible that they want to be able to choose for themselves?”

Cassandra pursed her lips and turned away, a ghost of color sweeping across her cheeks. She didn’t answer.

“Well,” Varric said, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but that was more than enough excitement for this dwarf. Can we go now?”

“Not yet,” Kaitlyn said. “How much coin can we spare?”

“We have several sovereigns leftover.” Cassandra took the money pouch from her belt and shook it until a small handful of gold coins spilled into her palm. She divided the pile in half and handed it to Kaitlyn.

“Got something fun in mind?” Varric asked.

“I’ve seen several staffs that are almost worth the coin asked for them,” Solas said.

“Something much better,” Kaitlyn said, already striding ahead of them, barely listening to their conversation.

Varric chuckled. “Could I use the rest of that for—”

“No,” Cassandra said sharply.

“But Bianca needs an upgraded—”

“I said no.”

Varric scoffed. “It’s not _my_ fault that I’m not the Herald.”

“I’ll tell you what, Varric,” Cassandra’s sharp tone made Kaitlyn wince even as she sidled up to stare at the pastries once more. “If _you_ ever walk in and out of the Fade unharmed, I will buy Bianca whatever upgrades she needs myself.”

“Is that a wager, Seeker?”

“A wager implies risk. This is a promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Kaitlyn laughed under her breath at the pair of them before she stepped inside the shop, setting down the entire sum Cassandra had given her. She pointed to the display of sweets. “I want everything.”


	5. Of Mages and Magisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaitlyn returns and the advisers continue their debate before Kaitlyn decides once and for all which path the Inquisition will take.

_Cullen –_

_Something is wrong with the Lord Seeker. I enclosed a full report to Leliana but I cannot stress enough as to how different he’s become. If I had not been there to see it for myself, I never would’ve believed the things he said. Even if the Herald persists in recruiting the mages, you and I must find out what’s happened to the templars. The entire Order couldn’t have descended into madness with the Lord Seeker._

_As for Redcliffe, the mages have deceived us yet again. Fiona—or a very convincing imposter—asked us to come, but when we met with her, she claimed to have no memory of it. Instead on negotiating with us, they have sold themselves to the Imperium. They protest so much against the abuses of the Circle, and yet they willingly turn themselves into slaves. I cannot understand it._

_To Fiona’s credit, she seems as disgusted and baffled by it as we are. It repulses her to even speak of it despite having chosen the arrangement. Has the entire world gone mad? Or is this a trick? A show she is putting on for her new masters?_

_The Herald has shown some improvement in her abilities, though I sometimes wonder what influence Varric is having over her during all their late night conversation that I, apparently, am not allowed to listen to. But I fear her spirit is failing. We discovered the true source of the oculara last night and it took the Herald several hours to recover from her ~~outbur~~    ~~sickne~~  _ _emotional state. She’s already issued orders to destroy any that are found so they can never be used. I don’t know if that kind of passion will help us or hinder us._

_We are to meet with a Tevinter mage in a few hours. I have already alerted the scouts in the area that they are to return to Haven immediately if anything should happen to us. Be well, Cullen, and do not neglect to practice the exercises I showed you. You may not like them but they will help with the soreness._

_Maker be with you._

_Cassandra_

 

 

_Commander –_

_We may have to put archery lessons on hold. The mages here are in need of urgent help. Cassandra insists on returning to Haven to speak things over but I don’t think we’ll have time for anything else. ~~Please don't tell anyon~~_

~~_When we_ ~~

~~_I didn't mean to sou_ ~~

_Thank you for talking with me the other day._

_Kaitlyn_

_This ended up being much shorter than I’d planned._

 

 

Cullen chuckled softly at Kaitlyn’s last line. A whole scroll of parchment and that was all she had to say. Cassandra, on the other hand, had written an exhaustive amount of notes on the backside of her letter, detailing the routines of the party, which attacks they tended to use, and all accounts of injury: two stubbed toes, a broken finger, a mild burn on one leg, and a series of paper cuts. And that was just for Varric.

“Commander!”

Cullen glanced up from where he sat in the Chantry. “Yes?”

A soldier—was his name Mayhew or Matthews?—came barreling through the doors, his face coated in some dark, sticky substance that oozed down his face like heated tar and stank like a latrine on a hot day. Cullen tried not to breathe when he drew near.

“Ser, __please__ tell me that we can get rid of that knife-ea—that elf woman.”

Cullen stared at him dryly. “Sera was invited by the Herald to stay here.” He took a small step back, fighting not to gag at the stench. It was somehow getting worse with every passing second. “And I suggest you refer to her as Sera from now on.”

“But she—”

“What?” Cullen snapped. “She embarrassed you? Made a fool out of you? After calling her a knife-ear, you should be grateful she didn’t simply stab you.”

“But,” he continued to sputter. “But she _is_ a—”

“Enough! Clean yourself off then report to Captain Rylen for reassignment.”

“Ser?”

“That’s an order,” Cullen barked, starting towards the man until he scampered away.

Several paces to his right, Madame Vivienne clucked her tongue. With her, the blunt sound was borderline elegant. “If you lose your temper like that with everyone who lacks manners, we might end up losing our soldiers before the battle’s even begun.”

“Battle?” he asked. “Once the Breach has been sealed, we won’t have need of a military force anymore. Choosing a new Divine and finding out the truth of what happened is for diplomats and spies, not soldiers.”

“My dear, you should know better than anyone that soldiers will always have a role to play, even if they’re simply there to be seen by your enemy.”

“That’s somewhat more difficult when you don’t have an enemy to face.” Who were they supposed to scare? The Chantry? Without the templars or the mages under their command, they were already hobbled.

Vivienne smiled. An expression she only used when she wanted to hide how she truly felt. She’d smiled in that exact way when she’d heard he was an ex-templar.

“Our enemies will come with time,” she said. “And we must be prepared to meet them.”

Cullen muttered in half-hearted agreement. She always managed to throw him off guard and make him feel like he was a young boy again, struggling to memorize the Chant. He pinched the bridge of his nose as a dull headache pounded behind his eyes. Combined with the self-confessed Qunari spy and that Warden who’d exiled himself to the farthest reaches of the camp, Haven was straining under the weight of all the voices gathering here.

“Do you have room for more bad news?” Leliana asked as she walked up the Chantry aisle. Her hand brushed his arm when she passed. He fell in line behind her, following her into the war room where Josephine stood waiting.

“Worse than what we’re already dealing with?” he asked.

“The Inquisition received a formal letter from Gereon Alexius today,” Josephine said.

“Alexius?” Cullen asked. “Isn’t that the magister who—” How was he supposed to say it? ‘Enslaved’ seemed too blunt; Josephine would scold him for being unpolitical. “Made a __deal__ with the mages at Redcliffe?”

“One and the same,” Leliana said. “He wishes to have an accord with the Herald at Redcliffe Castle— _ _alone__.”

Cold bled through Cullen’s chest. An obvious trap. No one walking into that place alone would ever return alive. “I knew we should’ve approached the Order from the start. If the mages are desperate enough to become slaves to a Magister then I say let him take them.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I—” Cullen pursed his lips, scowling at her calm expression. Sometimes, he wondered if the woman wasn’t a mage herself with the way she read other people’s minds. “I don’t,” he relented with a sigh. “But if they’re fortified within Redcliffe Castle, we’d never get enough manpower to break through. If the mages have pledged themselves away, then they are lost to us.”

“So we should simply let this Alexius take a powerful force that could be turned against us?” Leliana asked.

Frustration curled around his fingers, tempting him to form them into fists. “What did the letter say?”

“It’s a simple invitation worded in a way that would make an Orlesian call it excessively polite,” Josephine sighed. “I’m certain that Alexius intends to kill her.”

“And you _want_ to send her to him?” Cullen asked. “If she were to go in that Castle on her own, she _would_ die. That fortress has withstood every attack against it for centuries. We cannot— _I_ cannot ask the Herald to do that to herself, not after everything she’s already done for the Inquisition.”

“Is this your form of sentiment, Commander?” Leliana asked, lips turning up into a smirk. “I didn’t know you were capable of such things.”

He scowled. “You mistake me, Leliana. If nothing else, we cannot afford to lose her because she possesses the only means of closing the rifts. To lose one would strike a blow to the Inquisition; to lose both is something we may not be able to recover from.”

“We might ask the Herald herself.”

Cullen froze as Cassandra’s voice came from over his shoulders. He groaned, wishing the floor would split into a chasm and take him far away from here. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to agree with Leliana,” Cassandra said. “This cannot be allowed to stand.”

Josephine tutted softly, her hand wrapped around Kaitlyn’s elbow. She seemed to drag the Herald into the room with her light touch. “You’re all forgetting something. We are an __Orlesian__ Inquisition in name. If we were to send the forces we have marching into Ferelden, we would provoke a war. In this case, I am afraid that it is better to do nothing.”

“But the magister—”

“Has outplayed us.” Cullen bit back a laugh at the near pout on Kaitlyn’s face as she took her place at the table. With a hand pressed against her stomach, there was an intense sense of wooziness about her. “Are you all right?” he asked under his breath.

“Fine,” Kaitlyn said with a strained smile. “The mark is fine too, by the way. I know that you stay up at night worrying about how it’s doing on those long rides through the mud.”

He flushed. “It was unkind of me to say it that way, I—”

“It’s all right, Commander.” Her smile grew before she chuckled while the other three women continued to debate. “I know that the mark is the only reason why I’m here—why Cassandra didn’t skewer me when I was first found at the Breach.”

“Is that what you really think?”

“It’s the truth. What I think about it doesn’t matter.”

Cullen stared at her. All this time and _that_ was what she thought of herself? _She_ was the one who led the party into the Hinterlands. _She_ was the one who recruited men and women into the Inquisition’s growing forces. _She_ was the only thing resembling a leader that they had. “You shouldn’t—”

Cassandra jolted the room when she slammed her fist against the table. “We cannot accept defeat now! There _must_ be a solution.”

“Unless you know of some secret passage,” Cullen said, already tiring of this circular argument, “it simply cannot be done.” He blinked when Leliana’s face turned up with a smirk. “What?”

“There _is_ such a passage. One I used years ago during the Blight. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.”

“And you couldn’t have mentioned this before?” Cullen said. “Not that it’ll matter. Any agents we send in will be discovered well before they reach the magister.”

“Which is precisely why we need a distraction.”

“Draw their attention while we take out the Tevinters?” he asked. “It’s risky, but it could work.”

“Hello. Right there.” Kaitlyn leaned forward and waved her hand between their faces. “You know, Herald. Mage. Trevelyan. The one who the two of you want to turn into bait.”

Cullen cleared his throat and offered something he hoped was a reassuring smile. He’d gotten so used to plotting their course out with Leliana and Josephine, it felt bizarre to have Kaitlyn in the room as well.

“You won’t be bait on your own.”

Cullen turned, frowning at the man—Tevinter, by his appearance—who lounged in the doorframe.

“Lieutenant,” Cullen called to the Inquisition soldier puffing his way behind the new arrival, “why is this man here?”

“Says he has information about the magister and his methods, Commander.” He continued to pant, leaning on his knees while he struggled to catch his breath.

The stranger caught Kaitlyn’s eye and winked; Cullen bristled when she smiled in return.

“Herald, you know this man?”

“Dorian of House Pavus,” the Tevinter said with a flourishing bow. “I met this lovely ‘Herald’ of yours back in Redcliffe.”

“I trust that he’s here to help,” Kaitlyn said to Cullen’s unasked question. “Alexius is using time magic and Dorian is the only one who seems to know anything about it.”

Dorian sent Cullen a smirk. “No need to glare at me like that, Commander. If I meant your dear Herald any harm, do you really think I’d go through this entire charade merely to get her into Redcliffe? I might be that clever, but I’m certainly not that hard working.”

Cullen ground his teeth, assessing the man. Yet another mage among their ranks. And one who was going to accompany Kaitlyn into enemy territory. __Mage__ territory. An uneasiness settled within his bones, making him shift about in place. Once Kaitlyn disappeared within the castle, she’d be out of reach, out of help. She’d be alone.

He turned to her. “This plan puts __you__ in the most danger. I cannot, in good conscience, order you to do this. The templars are still available if you’d rather not be someone else’s bait.” The faint lines around her eyes deepened with her growing scowl. Mages and templars. Again. But her anger didn’t change his answer. If she went to the Order, she could escape if things went wrong. The mages allowed no such luxury.

“I…” Cullen felt the back of his neck warm. All eyes on the room were on him. “The choice is yours, Herald. I pray you will make the right one.”

Kaitlyn stepped up to the table, taking the iron marker that would declare which faction the Inquisition would formally try to recruit. Silence stilled everything in the room until she placed the marker onto Redcliffe Castle. “We go for the mages.”

Cullen’s heart fell as the others around the table began to make the preparations for the deceit. He watched Kaitlyn as she and Dorian departed the room, heads leaned in together. Her choice hadn’t surprised him. Any good will she might have had for the templars likely died with Lucius’ display in Val Royeaux. Still…

Turning from the war table, he marched out of the Chantry and over to the trebuchets where Rylen was instructing some of the newer recruits in how to use the equipment. Why they had siege equipment when they weren’t laying siege to anything, he’d never understand.

“Rylen!”

Rylen glanced up at him, then back to his group, giving them one final instruction before taking his leave. “Ser?”

“I want you to gather the best soldiers you have, as many as can be spared.”

Rylen glanced around them before stepping closer. “Is this about Redcliffe?”

“Yes,” Cullen said. “Leliana will have her scouts but I want a force ready to attack in case something goes wrong.”

“No luck in having her go for the templars, then?”

Cullen shook his head.

“Not surprising, really,” Rylen said. “Lucius was always a self-righteous arse. It’s a pity how they always seems to be the type that ends up in charge of everyone else.”

“Are you saying that __I’m__ a self-righteous arse?” Cullen asked with a smile.

“Of course not, ser. I was merely implying it.”

They laughed together and Cullen reveled in the way the sound made him feel. It felt like years since he’d laughed so freely.

“Our best men,” Rylen said after his chuckle died off. “When do we move out?”

“A few hours after the Herald. We don’t want to tip anyone off as to what’s going on, but we’ll need to be close enough to act.”

“Understood,” Rylen said. “I’ll speak to Master Dennet about the horses.”

“Thank you.” Cullen turned as Rylen walked away only to see Kaitlyn walking side by side with that Tevinter. He pursed his lips at the pair, uneasy with how quickly the man had been able to persuade her. They’d only met a few days ago and yet here she was, about to risk her life on nothing but his word. Grumbling under his breath, he refused to acknowledge the jealousy bubbling up within his chest. No time to practice archery with a templar, but plenty of time to go for a stroll with an unknown mage.

They drew closer.

Kaitlyn glanced to him and smiled when they passed. He returned the gesture a moment too late and wanted nothing more than to turn around and thunk his head on the nearest hard surface. Settling to mentally curse at himself instead as she, the Tevinter, Varric, and Blackwall gathered together by the horses, he slipped his hand into his pocket, his fingers brushing over the coin his brother had given him nearly twenty years ago.

_Andraste watch over her and keep her safe._


	6. A Dark Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaitlyn travels to Redcliffe Castle to confront Gereon Alexius when things go horribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-typical violence. Character death (sort of).

Kaitlyn clenched her hands to keep them from shaking. The halls echoed with her footsteps and she couldn’t keep from glancing over her shoulder to ensure that Varric and Blackwall were still at her back. Shadows stretched to every corner. They layered over each other, spreading out as though to claim the hallway and all those within.

“Anybody else getting incredibly creeped out?” Varric asked under his breath.

“I feel like we’re being watched,” Blackwall said.

Varric chuckled bitterly. “Watched. Studied. Scrutinized. _Dissected_.”

“Quiet,” Kaitlyn hissed as they neared the doors at the very heart of the castle. Alexius had even gone through the trouble of placing the Inquisition’s symbol on the wall. Cute.

Two sets of guards, dressed in white and gold cut in a classical Tevinter style, stood on the other side along with a Ferelden man in a pale blue tunic that matched his eyes. Gereon and Felix Alexius sat side by side near the fireplace with Fiona an arm’s reach away. Kaitlyn had expected an army: soldiers and weapons and threats and glares. This emptiness was worse.

“Announce us,” she told the Ferelden man.

He stepped forward. “The magister’s invitation was for Mistress Trevelyan alone.”

Mistress Trevelyan. Kaitlyn smiled at that. Alexius had likely intended it to be an insult—a way to put her in her place—but she preferred not having a fancy title attached to her name. ‘Herald’ was far too heavy for anyone to haul around all day.

“Are you sure about that?” she asked. “I could’ve sworn that it said _The Herald of Andraste plus two_. My mistake. We’ll be taking our leave then.” She gave him the most illustrious curtsy she knew, sweeping all the way down to the floor, before turning to leave.

“Wait!” He yelled before she’d even taken her first step. “Your… guests are welcome to accompany you, Lady Trevelyan.”

Mistress to Lady. Hopefully, the promotion was a good sign and _not_ an indication that someone was about to shoot her with an arrow. Falling back so that she and the others were walking side by side, the three of them approached Gereon together.

“Ah, my friend,” Gereon said, getting to his feet. “It’s so good to see you again. Now that you’ve finally arrived, I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement concerning the mages here.”

“Wait!” Fiona stepped forward. “ _Us?_ Your meeting is about _us_?”

“You turned your followers over to my care, Fiona.” Gereon’s words carried a slight snarl. “There is no ‘us’ in this. You have already given up that right.”

Fiona trembled in indignation. She opened her mouth as though to protest again then went unnaturally still. Her hand come up to her forehead and her eyes shut as though trying to recall a memory she’d buried long ago. Gereon waved a hand and two of his guards escorted Fiona to a more isolated corner.

“Now then,” Gereon said, settling back into his overly-carved chair. “We both know that the Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach and I have them. What shall you offer in exchange?”

Kaitlyn smiled, lips pressed tightly together. _Count to a hundred_. That’s what Leliana had told her when they’d parted ways at the castle doors. _Count to a hundred and we will be there_.

She was only at eighty-nine.

“Well?” he asked.

Ninety-one.

Kaitlyn tapped her chin, making a low humming sound as though she were thinking it over. Ninety-four.

“You see, Gereon. May I call you Gereon? Or is it strictly Magister Alexius?”

His expression tightened. “Have I not already declared you my friend, Lady Trevelyan? You may call me whatever you please.”

One hundred.

“Thank you,” Kaitlyn said, heart thrumming in anticipation as she readied a barrier in case she’d counted too fast. “But you see, I know that you want to kill me. Or use my blood. Or… well, I don’t know the exact details, but I will ask you, here and now, to give up this obsession you have with the Venatori. For the sake of your son, if not for yourself.”

“Felix?” He glanced to his son before glaring at her. “You think you can throw those words at me when you have no idea what’s going on? I _am_ doing this for my son. Not that you could ever understand, _Herald_ , with the masses who bow and cater to your every whim. You, who walk so freely into my stronghold with a gift you don’t even understand. Do you really think you’re in control?” He laughed. “You’re nothing but a mistake!”

“Gift?” she repeated, ignoring the rest. She’d heard it before. “You know what the mark is?”

“It belongs to the Elder One. He has power beyond what you can imagine and will raise the Imperium from its own ashes to restore us to our former glory. Mages will rule in every corner of Thedas as we were always meant to.”

“Father!” Felix grabbed his arm when Gereon started to stand. “Do you even know what you sound like?”

“He sounds exactly like the villainous cliché everyone expects us to be.”

“Dorian,” Gereon snarled as the man eased out of one of the side doors as though his entrance had been the most natural thing in the world. “You gave up the right to be involved with this when you turned me down. Leave. Now.”

Dorian stepped forward. “How can you say that? This is _exactly_ what you and I talked about never wanting to happen. You believed in a better world. A freer world. Why would you support this madness?”

“Please, father,” Felix added when Gereon’s anger began to crumble off his face. “Give up the Venatori. Give these mages back their freedom and let’s go _home_.”

“No!” Gereon roared. “You don’t understand. None of you understand! The Elder One promised, Felix. You’ll be saved. Things’ll be as they were.”

“I’m going to die, father. You need to accept that.”

Gereon stormed past Felix, rushing up to Kaitlyn. Varric and Blackwall stepped forward but with a wave of his hand, Gereon sent them stumbling backwards. He left Kaitlyn alone, marching up to her until his face was inches from hers. “Guards, seize this woman! The Elder One demands her life.”

She stood there, unflinching, the beginning of her spell buzzing between her fingers, begging to be cast.

No guards came.

“Your men are dead,” Leliana said behind her. It was the sweetest thing Kaitlyn had ever heard. “Give this up. There doesn’t need to be any more bloodshed today.”

“No,” Gereon muttered. His hand disappeared inside his pocket. “No, no, _no!_ You are a mistake!” He wrenched up his hand, a talisman pulsing with light within his palm. “You should never have existed!”

“Stop!” Dorian yelled, staff coming up towards Gereon’s hand as Kaitlyn released her barrier. Green light flared around her. The room tilted sharply to the side and she found herself falling. The air grew thin. Lungs unable to work. Gasping. Tightness on her chest. No room to breathe. Blackness. Water crashed into her. Panic clawed at her lungs. She screamed. Drowning. Was she drowning?

“Hold on!”

Arms tight around her waist. Air hit her harder than the water had and she gulped it in with greedy breaths. The water settled in around her knees as she leaned into Dorian’s chest, panic abating with slow seconds. And then she heard it.

Lyrium.

Twisted and raw and cold and cruel.

Its song was louder than Dorian’s words as he spoke about talismans and time. It was louder than her heartbeat. Louder than the screams in her memory.

The walls, the doors, the very waters they now knelt in—it was all filled with red lyrium.

… _Fuck._

 

* * *

 

Cullen stood with trembling knees before the remains of Redcliffe Castle. Though it’d been nearly a year since anyone had called it that, he stubbornly clung to the title, refusing to accept that the past was entirely lost to them as so many believed. The Red Keep stood tall and imposing in the distance, its cracked crystals catching the light in distorted patterns, turning the proud and ancient building into a living wound. The infection of the place had spread like wildfire as corrupted lyrium had seeped into the lands and livestock and peoples of Redcliffe until little of the original village remained.

He coughed as the lyrium shifted and splintered within him, making him suffer for every breath. As if the twisted song from the crystals growing out of his body weren’t torment enough.

“Rylen!” The word broke, tainted by the song he couldn’t shake. “Rylen, are you still there?”

Cullen turned from the scorched battlefield of broken bodies and entered the healers’ tent. He almost laughed as he thought of the term. Healers. They had one mage, an elven herbalist, and a woman who insisted that bleeding was the best cure for everything. No—that wasn’t right. The herbalist had died last week. And the woman with the leeches, she’d… she’d done something. Done something to Josephine.

He groaned as he rubbed his forehead, unable to hold onto the memory. That was happening more and more. To all of them.

“Rylen?” he called again.

A muffled groan answered from one of the filled cots. Bodies were stacked along the sides of the tent, the poor bastards hovering on the edge of life and death as their wills battled against the corruption. He and the other soldiers had once ended their suffering, but now… now there was no point. Death was no release when you knew that only demons waited for you in the Fade. He tried to ignore the agonized souls when he walked past. He tried to ignore what he was turning into—what they were all turning into. He didn’t succeed.

Rylen was coughing when Cullen reached his side. His eyes had long turned red, his face marred with cracks that cut across the tattoos on his face.

“Can you hear me, Rylen?”

“Of course I can, ye dolt.” Rylen wheezed when he sat up, despite the smile he wore. “Still got my ears, haven’t I?”

“That you have,” Cullen said. “And a mouth that won’t shut up.”

Rylen scoffed. “Says the man who’s always yelling at everyone.”

“Someone has to.”

The pair of them shared a smile before another round of coughing claimed the Free Marcher. He clutched at his chest, each second sounding worse than the one before. Cullen held him while he struggled to breathe. Rylen managed a sip or two of water before saying, “Are ye still going to try and assault the Keep again?”

“I have to,” Cullen said. “If we give up, the Elder One wins.”

“He’s already won.”

“ _No_. No, he hasn’t. The world isn’t his yet. _We_ aren’t his yet. There’s still a chance; we can’t let everyone’s sacrifices be in vain. We can’t let Kaitlyn’s—” Cullen stopped. He swallowed past the lump forming in his throat. _Kaitlyn_. It was his fault. If he’d brought more men on that first assault, if they’d gotten to the passage before Alexius had collapsed it, if he’d convinced her to go to the templars…

His chest ached at the thought of her, of what could’ve been. “It’s too late for us, Rylen. But we can make our deaths count. We can make the Elder One pay for everything he’s done to us and those we love. Will you help me, old friend? This one last time?”

 

* * *

 

Kaitlyn followed after Blackwall and a limping Varric through the winding tunnels of the castle. Varric had taken the truth well, accepting without question that she and Dorian had been sent through time—the distinct lack of lyrium growing out of their skin had probably been the biggest clue. In contrast, Blackwall continued to shake his head, muttering under his breath about the demon armies and the assassination of the Orlesian Empress. She couldn’t blame him for his doubt. If she’d been the one forced into solitude for nearly a year, she would’ve questioned a lot more than he was now.

“This way, I think,” Varric said, taking them up a right passage. “I’ve heard guards talk about the ‘stubborn spy’ from time to time. Leliana should be—”

“Wait.” Kaitlyn stopped when they passed an embrasure. She doubled back, pressing herself up against the slit in the wall to better see outside. “It’s the Inquisition! They’re still fighting!”

She turned back to the others, unable to suppress her grin. After all this time, they still hadn’t given up. Returning to the battlefield, she watched with bated breath. Creatures—too twisted to be called human—shone red in the light. They bore down onto the army with swords and arms of crystal. Fire fell like rain. In an instant, the Inquisition’s forces were overwhelmed. They were screaming. _Maker’s breath, those screams!_

“We have to get to them,” she said, unable to take her eyes away. “We have to—”

Cullen broke through the line. His armor glinted with the sun, his mantle torn and tattered; the ends fluttered behind him. His face was smudged, hair singed, body heaving with each breath, but he was _alive_. He carried an Inquisition shield in one arm. It set him apart from the writhing mass of red around him. Raising his sword, he let out a battle cry: it died before reaching its end. His sword fell to the ground. The shield followed. One knee buckled though he remained on his feet. She didn’t see the arrow until he twisted to the side, the shaft protruding from his chest. He continued forward. Another arrow caught him across the neck. Red blossomed down his front. He was still moving.

“Help him,” she whispered to no one. “We—we need to help him. Cullen!”

She turned to flee down the stairs when several pairs of hands grabbed her back. Dorian pressed her up against the wall, a hand over her mouth. He was fuzzy, blurred around the edges. It took a moment to realize she was crying. She protested against his grip, her words muffled by his hand. He could still be alive. She could save him!

“The only way to help him,” Dorian said, voice calm, “is to make sure this day never comes. The _only_ way to do that is to keep moving forward.”

“We can’t just leave him there,” she said once he’d let go. “He’s _dying_.”

“We’re all already dead,” Varric said.

Blackwall nodded, expression somber. “We died the day the Elder One took over. It’s just taking some of us a bit longer to realize it.”

Dorian stepped away though he eyed her in a _please don’t try to run again_ kind of way.

“All right,” she said, glancing to the battlefield. The scene was gone, the corrupted soldiers filling the space where the Commander’s body had fallen. She was still staring at the spot when the others began dragging her off again.

It took near an hour of wrong turns and fighting guards before they heard Leliana’s voice echoing up ahead.

“ _I will die first_.”

“Leliana!” Kaitlyn took off at a run, the other three close on her heels. The door burst into flames. She looked to the side where Dorian was still twisting his hand, the very air around him appearing to move, before the door disintegrated into smoldering ash. Inside, Leliana was chained to the walls. A guard stood on either side, one pressing a dagger to her throat as the other held a small bowl beneath her hand that was collecting blood from a cut on her wrist.

The two guards stared at Kaitlyn, eyes wide, mouths open.

Leliana looked up, raw fury entering her gaze. “Or _you_ will,” she snarled, jerking her hand away from the stunned man on her right to snatch the knife. She drew it across the throat of the one on her left, then stabbed the other in his heart in such a rapid, fluid motion that Kaitlyn barely understood what she’d just seen.

Leliana slumped down, her chains the only thing keeping her from falling to her knees as she panted. “You’re alive?” She squinted out at them before shaking her head. Her skin was raw and uneven as though strips had been torn away one piece at a time.

Blackwall moved first, pushing past the rest of them to get to Leliana’s side. He ripped a piece of his shirt and wrapped it around her wrist before undoing her chains, catching her when her knees gave way. “We’re going to undo it,” he said to her, voice low and calm and reassuring—a father’s voice. “We’re going to undo all of it.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kaitlyn said, coming forward to heal the cut on Leliana’s wrist. The woman pulled her hand away.

“Alexius is responsible for this,” Dorian said over her shoulder. “He sent us here. If we can return to when this started, none of this will ever happen.”

Leliana scoffed. She kept an arm around Blackwall to stay on her feet. “And mages always wonder why people fear them; no one should have this kind of power. Not Alexius. Not the Elder One.” Her eyes fell to Kaitlyn’s mark. “ _Not you_.”

Kaitlyn retreated a step as Dorian said, “It’s dangerous and unpredictable, yes, but before the Breach, nothing we did ever—”

“Enough!” she hissed. “This is all pretend to you. A world you hope will never exist. But I suffered. Blackwall and Varric suffered. The whole _world_ suffered because of that Magister.” She took an uneven step away from Blackwall. “I know where he’ll be. We are going to end this. _Now_.”

Kaitlyn bit her tongue, not daring to object as Leliana gathered the weapons off the guards she’d killed. She stretched as she moved, seeming to gain strength with each step until she was striding out ahead of them, hands clenched around her weapons tightly enough that Kaitlyn feared the bow she held might snap.

Leliana had no hesitation in her directions as she led them to the main hall where Tevinter banners now covered the walls. There were no guards inside. No soldiers of any kind. Just Gereon standing before the fires with a hunched and docile figure crouching in the corner.

“Distract him,” Leliana hissed before slipped to the outer edges of the room where the flickering Veilfire didn’t reach.

“Alexius!” Kaitlyn stepped forward, hardly able to believe the anger and fear she’d felt when first walking up to this man. It had only been hours since then, but now… now, it was hard to feel anything but pity and disgust for the man as he stood alone in his kingdom of ruin and death. “Why?”

“For my country. For my son.” His shoulders fell. “But it means nothing now. I knew you would appear again—the final sign of my failure.”

“Was it worth it, Alexius? All the pain you caused? Everything that you’ve done to yourself?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, continuing to stare into the flames. “All we can do is wait for the end.”

“I don’t intend on waiting for anything,” Kaitlyn said. “It can be undone. You know it can. Help us take it back. Redeem yourself now before it’s too late.”

Gereon laughed. “It is already too late. The Elder One comes for all of us… it is already too late.”

Kaitlyn’s attention slid to Leliana as she crept from the shadows and latched onto the hunched man. He didn’t protest when she pressed a knife to his throat. He didn’t struggle, or fight, or move at all. His face bore the same scarring marks as Leliana’s though his features had been more severely distorted. Kaitlyn felt like she’d seen the face before, but had no name to put to it.

“Wait!” Gereon screamed, hand outstretched in a pleading gesture. “Don’t. I beg you. He’s all I have left.”

“ _Maker’s breath_ ,” Dorian hissed. “What did you do to him?”

“He would’ve died otherwise! I saved him. _Please_.” He set his staff down and took a hesitant step towards Leliana. “Please don’t hurt Felix. I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Leliana,” Kaitlyn said, “let Felix go. He’s innocent of all this. He tried to help us, remember? He warned us of what was happening.”

Leliana looked at her, then back at Gereon. A heartbeat passed. She drew the knife across Felix’s throat.

“ _No!_ ” Dorian and Gereon roared at the same time. There was a horrible second of silence between them as Felix’s body hit the floor, his vacant eyes dimming in the firelight.

Alexius moved first, diving for his staff. Kaitlyn flung out her arm, encasing it in ice before he could reach it.

“No!” Gereon screamed again. Turning on Leliana, he pounced with outstretched arms. His hands wrapped around her neck. He wouldn’t stop screaming. Drawing a hand back, fire burst within his palm. His snarl trailed off into a weak gasp as the fire sputtered and died. He looked down at himself. A dagger in his side thrown from Blackwall. An arrow in his shoulder from Varric. A knife at his neck from Leliana.

Kaitlyn let the barrier she’d placed around Leliana fall as Gereon slumped over. He crawled towards his son, wheezing. He reached for Felix. His body went still, his hand inches away from his son’s.

Dorian left Kaitlyn’s side, going to Felix. He pulled the fallen man into his arms, cradling Felix against his chest. He said something but Kaitlyn couldn’t catch the words. There was such mourning in Dorian’s eyes, such loss—Kaitlyn turned away, giving him a moment to grieve alone before daring to approach.

“The real Felix can still be saved, Dorian.”

“No… he can’t. Not yet, at least.” Dorian sighed, squeezing Felix closer to him before letting go. He got to his feet, eyes bright with the emotions he was trying to bottle inside. “Alexius is wearing an amulet. I’ll bet you anything that it’s what he used to send us here. Give me an hour, and I’ll be able to send us back again.”

“An hour?” Leliana asked. When she stalked towards them, Dorian kept a set distance, eyes narrowed and cold. “You must go now. The Elder One will be upon us any minute!”

As though summoned by her words, a shriek tore through the building. The very stones trembled beneath the sound.

“What _is_ that?” Kaitlyn asked.

“The reason they won,” Blackwall said, turning to Varric. The two men looked at each other, then nodded. “We’ll go on ahead; take out as many as we can. Leliana, you’re the last line of defense.”

“No,” Kaitlyn protested as Varric and Blackwall headed towards the main doors of the hall. “There has to be a better way. I can freeze the doors shut. Dorian can set up a fire mines. I can set a barrier. Something! I won’t let you throw your lives away. Not like this.”

“It’s already over for us, Herald,” Varric said with a smile. “You know it. We know it. But we can put our ends to good use.” His smile broadened into a grin when Blackwall began to close the doors. He managed to sneak in a wink before they disappeared from her sight.

“But—”

Dorian held her back when she tried to follow. They were right. She knew they were right. But watching the doors close on Varric and Blackwall, hearing the thudding march closing in—she was useless. A mark from the Maker, a lifetime of training in the Circle, and she was _useless_.

“Cast your spell,” Leliana told Dorian as she stood before the doors. They were already beginning to quiver from being pounded on the other side. Had the others fallen so quickly? “You have as much time as I have arrows.”

Kaitlyn steeled herself. Clenching her fists, she focused on the door, channeling her magic through the floor until ice seeped between the gaps, sealing them inside behind a thick layer of ice.

Dorian was muttering under his breath, the talisman glowing in his hands. He shook his head. Cursed. The glow faltered then brightened again like a flame on the verge of dying.

“Hurry!” Leliana yelled as the ice cracked.

“Yes,” Dorian hissed to no one. “Because I was going so slowly before.”

A great pounding shook the hall and another, deeper fissure split the ice in half. Leliana’s hands flew to her bow and quiver as she released arrow after arrow. The bodies began to pile: men, demons, creatures somewhere in between.

Kaitlyn moved to help.

“No!” Dorian yelled to her. “Move, and we all die.”

“I can’t just watch, Dorian.”

He gave her a grim look. That was exactly what they were going to do.

Kaitlyn swore but remained at his side. She cast a barrier over the other woman. It fizzled and hissed, lasting mere moments under the assault of arrows and blades and claws. Leliana didn’t even scream when they got to her.

“Hold on!” Dorian latched onto Kaitlyn’s arm. The glow from the talisman brightened until it blinded. Her breath left her. Darkness bled in at the edges of her vision. Dorian’s hand fell away, and the room tilted for a second time.


	7. Things are Different Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Kaitlyn prepare to assault the Breach with the mages they recruited from Redcliffe.

“Things are different now.” Cullen marched through the line of templars, sweeping his eyes over each man and woman he passed. He would’ve preferred more. With the mages from Redcliffe pouring in by the dozen, the few templars they had were spread too thin. If a mass possession happened so close to the Breach—he shuddered as the lingering screams from Kinloch Hold echoed through his head: her body had been limp when he’d held her in his arms. He’d screamed her name but she didn’t—Maker’s breath, she was already…

Cullen shook himself, taking in a deep breath of the cold air to clear his senses. He had enough nightmares as it was; he didn’t need to remember that day in his waking hours as well. “I want you all to understand that we are _not_ part of the Order. For too long, the Templars have been something mages fear. We are not their jailers. We are not their keepers. We are not their mentors nor their guards. We are working _with_ the mages here. We are a fail-safe against possession, nothing more and nothing less. They are our allies and we shall treat them accordingly.”

“Commander.” A woman stepped forward, chin slightly raised. “About that, ser. In the Order, there were rules about… about getting to _know_ the mages.”

A murmur rippled through them.

“Fraternization is—” He cleared his throat when his own cheeks started to warm. “It will not be punished, but I would advise caution in such relations. Most mages will be hesitant to trust any of us because of recent circumstances. Make sure that any, uh, _activities_ are consensual and sensible.”

On his right, Rylen snorted with barely contained laughter.

“Yes, ser,” she said with a grin, stepping back into line. “Thank you, ser.”

Cullen nodded, more to himself than the group of soldiers. The knots in his stomach had yet to disappear. Watching Kaitlyn disappear with the Tevinter, Varric, and Blackwall into those walls alone had been nothing short of agony.

Time magic. A dark future where red lyrium had all but destroyed the world. The Inquisition bashed to pieces on the wall of Redcliffe Castle. His head went fuzzy and his stomach clenched. Had they truly avoided such a fate, or had their actions merely sealed in their course?

“Does anyone know where the Herald is?” Cullen asked.

“Out near the lake, ser,” one of the younger ex-templars said. “With the other mages, I suspect.”

“What are they doing?”

The man faltered. “They’re uh—” His pose relaxed as he glanced at Cullen. “They’re throwing snowballs, ser.”

“They’re throwing…?” Cullen rolled his eyes, dismissing the soldiers. He was still shaking his head when he took Rylen by the arm, pulling his second in command aside.

“Alexius?” Cullen asked.

“We put him in one of the cells,” Rylen said. “Chained up several times over—couldn’t even scratch his own arse if he wanted to. Last I checked, Cassandra was keeping an eye on him along with Fiona. Seems the Grand Enchanter’s got a bit of a grudge against having her people used so blatantly.”

“Good,” Cullen said. “I’d like you to be there as well, if you don’t mind. He should only be with us for another few days and I don’t want to risk him getting any… ideas.”

“Understood.” Rylen started towards the Chantry, then turned back to Cullen with a smirk. “And that was a lovely speech ye gave earlier, Commander. About the fraternization. Made me wonder if there were any ‘consensual and sensible’ activities _you_ were hoping to have later on.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Rylen’s laughter was still ringing in Cullen’s ears as he strode out the main gates of Haven. The mages weren’t so much _near_ the lake as _on_ it, balls of snow hurtling through the air in every direction. Barriers flew up and dissipated in flashes of pale light. Their laughter grew louder when he drew near; it echoed across the frozen ground and he wondered how he hadn’t heard it before.

Cullen blinked when a young boy in mage robes came running up towards the main camp. The child couldn’t have been older than five; his steps were unbalanced and he all but fell head-first on more than one occasion. Catching him around the waist, Cullen held the child upright when he stumbled near Cullen’s feet. “Are you all right?”

The boy’s blue eyes widened and, for a moment, Cullen feared he would cry out. Instead, a smile of missing teeth broke over his face. “The lady promised sweets!”

“Lady?”

The boy pointed towards the middle of the fray. Narrowing his eyes, Cullen could barely make out Kaitlyn covered in snow with her head thrown back in laughter.

“She promised you sweets?” Cullen asked.

The boy nodded even as he started to wriggle from Cullen’s hold. “But I need to finish my letters first!”

Cullen chuckled as the child plopped down into the snow only to take off at a wobbly run, black curls flopping around his ears. He was too young to be caught up in something as dangerous as the rebellion. Too young to be pulled into a war that he didn’t even understand. Too young to be taken from his parents. Cullen’s fists clenches as he watched the boy disappear behind the walls.

_Things are different now._ He’d said that and yet, looking at that boy, nothing seemed to have changed at all.

Turning back to the mages, he flushed when he found Kaitlyn staring at him. She grinned, waving for him to join. He shook his head. Pain was already pounding behind his eyes, tongue begging for the slightest drop of lyrium to slake the thirst that was burning him from the inside out. Being that close to so many mages and templars at once, feeling the lyrium that pulsed through their veins, so close and yet forever outside of his yearning grasp. No. It was better for him to stay away from such things.

“Commander!” Kaitlyn called to him when he started to leave. She slipped from the group, chunks of snowing falling from her head and shoulders as she approached him. “Do you not approve of snowball fights?”

Cullen smirked. Her cheeks had darkened from the exertions, her bright eyes nearly glowing with laughter. Leliana had been right: Kaitlyn _was_ quite pretty when he stopped to think about it.

“It’s not that,” he said. “I’m feeling unwell and I fear I would only dampen the fun.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She stepped closer, green sparks glowing between her fingers. There was more sympathy in her gaze than he expected. She bit her lip, her eyes pitying him for more than a mere headache. “May I?”

“No, that’s quite all right.” He added a smile in the hopes she wouldn’t take offense at his refusal. “It’s something I need to endure on my own.”

She frowned. “If you say so,” she muttered as her hand fell to her side.

He cleared his throat. “Why a snowball fight of all things?”

“Why not?” Her smile returned, brighter than ever. “Most of the mages here are like me—they’ve either never held snow or they only touched it before they were taken to the Circle. I thought it would be nice to have a little fun. A calm before the storm, as it were. Since none of us might… I mean, I know there’s a chance that… well…” Her hands twisted together, voice dropping to a somber note. “It just seemed fun.”

“It is,” Cullen said quickly. “I mean, I think it was— _is_ —a good idea. I only asked out of curiosity.” He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. Heat rose to his cheeks when she continued to frown. Maker, he was terrible at talking on a casual level. “You, um, you hadn’t touched snow before?”

“Not like this. I remember watching outside of my window when I was a little girl, but it wasn’t proper for a noble’s daughter to run about with the other children. At the Circle, we weren’t allowed to go out at all when it snowed. It made it too easy to hide our tracks or some such nonsense. The elder enchanters would always melt it off the grounds before we were allowed to go out again.” Kaitlyn raised her hand palm-up as though to show him. A wisp of vapor swirled inside her palm, condensing, slowing until small crystals began to form on her skin. Turning her palm over, the crystals drifted down like flakes of snow. “It’s one of the reasons I studied ice magic so much. It’s not the same as snow. It’s… colder, somehow. Harder.” She wiped her hand off the front of her coat. “That doesn’t really make sense, does it.”

“I think it makes perfect sense.”

She blinked, then her eyes softened. “Was _your_ Circle like that? No mages in or out?”

“I…” Cullen bit the inside of his cheek. He tried to focus on her face, to stay in the moment with her, but the screams echoed in his mind. The stench of corpses, the sting of the demon’s claws against his chest. “Yes,” he said quickly, spilling over the words. “Yes, it was rather rigid and looking back at it now, I see why the mages hated it.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t—”

“It’s fine,” he said with more force than he’d intended. Letting out a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Forgive me, Herald. It’s been a long day. For both of us.”

“Averting the apocalypse should never be easy.”

“True enough.” He chuckled, the tension easing from his neck. He turned from her to watch the mages. It wasn’t a matter of debate: sooner or later, abominations would leak through. With the Veil torn open, reports of demons had increased tenfold. Cullen thought of that little boy so eager for treats falling prey to temptation as Connor at Redcliffe Castle once had. Bile rose in his throat and his chest tightened. He would _not_ allow that to happen.

“Herald,” he said, “we need to discuss oversight of the mages.”

The light in Kaitlyn’s eyes dimmed as her arms crossed over her chest. “I granted them a full partnership, and I don’t intend to go back on my word.”

“I know, but turning them loose as they are will only lead to chaos. I _know_ that you made the choice because you believed it to be right, but you must admit that the risk of possession has never been higher. We have few templars as it is and if we are to keep everyone safe—mage, templar, and otherwise—we need to have a plan. The mages _need_ to be watched.”

She stepped closer, the skin between her eyes puckering with her scowl. “In the same way that _I’m_ constantly watched, Commander? Is that why you’re always so worried about the mark? You’re afraid I’ll fall prey to a demon while I’m out of your sight and you’ll lose it forever?”

“Of course not.” He groaned, wishing he was better with words. “I didn’t mean—I have no intention of endangering your alliance, but I _must_ ensure the safety of those here. That concern extends to the mages as well. They are putting themselves at risk for the Inquisition, as are you. Any precautions taken are meant to aid you, nothing more. I hope you will accept them as such.” Her eyes remained hard and Cullen began shifting from one foot to the other.

“I know it mustn’t seem like it with the way I’ve been acting,” he said, “but I _do_ trust your judgement and I _do_ trust that you will remain vigilant against demons on your own. Even so, I have seen too many good and strong mages falter in my life. Please, Herald.”

Kaitlyn pursed her lips as her eyes trailed him up and down as though his sincerity was hidden somewhere on his armor. After a moment, her shoulders rolled back with a light sigh. “Cassandra likely already told you, but I _did_ try to get the templars in Val Royeaux to listen to me. I wanted the mages first, that’s true, but I never saw why it had to be strictly one or the other. I won’t accept having templars above mages, but I wouldn’t mind templars being _partners_ with mages.”

“You don’t?”

“There have been times where templars were my only friends, and times where I’ve wanted to kill templars with my bare hands. In the end, they’re people just as mages are. It’s not _templars_ that I hate, Commander. It’s the Order. The Order which kept a good man from acting when his superior beat an old woman to the ground. The Order which says that neither mage nor templar is allowed to go about their lives freely. The Order which keeps secrets from its own people as well as its charges. The Order which teaches that magic may be to serve man, but mages are made to serve the Knight-Commander. So… yes, the templars can watch the mages. But!” She moved in, swift and fierce, eyes burning as she poked a finger against his chest plate. “There are going to be rules on what the templars can do. If a templar harms or abuses or takes advantage of _any_ mage, I expect their punishment to be swift and severe. I expect the mages to be treated as people deserving of respect. If not, I will take the mages and leave the Inquisition and you can figure out how to seal the damned Breach on your own.”

Her glare faltered when Cullen smiled.

“Thank you, Herald. I’ll make sure that the trust you’re putting me in and the others won’t be abused.”

“So… you agree?”

“I do.” For the most part, at least. He’d once believed the Order was right and just in its actions. Meredith had shown him otherwise.

“Just like that?” she asked.

“Any reason I shouldn’t?”

“No.” Kaitlyn withdrew her hand, confusion in her eyes. “I was expecting an argument.”

“You won’t find one in me. Not on this matter, at least.”

“Good. That’s… that’s good.”

“Thank you for trying,” Cullen said, taking a half-step closer. “For talking to the templars, I mean. Their behavior was… less than complimentary.”

“I certainly won’t be pledging my service to the Lord Seeker any time soon.” She smiled when Cullen chuckled. “But some of the others didn’t seem so bad. I already sent out another missive, asking if anyone wanted to join the Inquisition. They probably won’t get here in time for the Breach—if any come at all—but at least they’ll get away from that Lord Seeker.”

“Really? You contacted them?”

“Cassandra seems utterly convinced that something is wrong within the Order, and there’s no harm in asking for their help. Leliana says that it should have already arrived. That’s not a problem, is it? Asking the templars?”

“No, not at all!” He cleared his throat, face warming. He retreated, hand coming to his neck again when the skin began to prickle in embarrassment. “I appreciate the gesture, Herald, thank you. I think the number of templars who agree to join our cause may surprise you.”

Kaitlyn laughed—a warm, rich sound. He stood straighter in response, feeling as though a great weight were slipping off his shoulders. She was right. The Order and the Circles were both broken. But the Inquisition could take the pieces that remained to forge something new—something greater. The Inquisition could become a beacon to show how templars and mages might coexist without contention.

Cullen met her eyes and his resolve faltered. There was no telling what sealing the Breach would do. What the _mark_ would do. All of this—all of her work—and she might walk up the mountain never to return. He couldn’t breathe. Cullen glanced away as he struggled to retain his fracturing calm. He’d known it was a possibility, but with the time so close… What if none of it worked? What if their only hope died?

“How are you feeling?” he asked her, unable to keep the question contained any longer. “The mark, the Breach, all of this pressure on you.”

Her lips twitched and Cullen bit his tongue as her pained expression left a bitter taste in his mouth. She was smart enough to know the risks without him reminding her of them.

_Brilliant move there, Rutherford. Why don’t you just ask her what kind of memorial service she wants._

“I’m fine,” she said.

A lie. And an obvious one at that.

“How _are_ you?” he asked again, hoping to draw the pain from her before it swallowed her whole. He knew that feeling too well to watch it fester in another.

Her chin quivered when she answered, “I’m… scared.” She turned to face the lake. Her arms wrapped tight around her waist as though she needed to hold herself together. “People calling me the Herald of Andraste. They ask me if I know the Maker’s will. How am I supposed to answer that? And the Breach: what if it doesn’t work? What if none of this is enough? What if we make it worse like you feared? What if I really _should_ have gone to the templars first?”

“And then there’s the Inquisition itself,” she said. “As a mage, I never had many secrets of my own. But now, I feel like the strangers in the camp know more about me than my friends in the Circle ever did. And Josephine! She keeps telling me to reach out to my family when she doesn’t understand a _thing_ about them.

“On top of that, I don’t actually _know_ anyone here. Varric is the closest thing I have to a friend and even then… even then, I don’t know if he actually likes me or if he’s just being polite. Half the world is starting to put me up as some kind of savior, while the rest is painting me as a villain. I’m not either of those things. I’m not _anything_.” Kaitlyn spun towards him. Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes despite her attempts to blink them back. “I just want to be _me_. Is that such a terrible thing to ask for?”

“No,” Cullen said. He placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing close enough that it almost became an embrace. “No, it’s not. And no matter what anyone else calls you, you _are_ Kaitlyn Trevelyan.” He squeezed her arm gently and offered a tentative smile. “As for Tethras, believe me when I say that he isn’t known for his polite behavior. If he calls you a friend, it’s only because he means it.”

Kaitlyn’s body relaxed with a slight huff, her cheeks burning against the white snow. “I must sound like a child.”

“Not at all.” Another squeeze of her shoulder. He stepped away, fingers itching to reach out and dry her tears before they fell. He tucked his hand behind his back before he gave in to the impulse. “But you do bring up a good point: you and I haven’t had much chance to talk about things—at least, nothing that wasn’t connected to the Inquisition. Perhaps after we seal the Breach, we could change that. I still need to teach you archery, remember? Or maybe you’d prefer a long match of chess. Of course, you’d have to return for that to be possible.”

Her laughter, however strained, made him smile. “It would be a shame if I disappointed the Commander of the Inquisition.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I… yes. That would be nice. Thank you, Commander.”

“Herald,” he said with an inclination of his head. “Andraste will see you through this trial. Of that, I’m certain.”

Kaitlyn smiled to herself as Cullen walked towards the main camp. Her chest was tight, but in a pleasant way. _No matter what anyone else calls you, you_ are _Kaitlyn Trevelyan._ Such a silly thing, but that had been the first time he’d used her name. The first time _anyone_ here had used her name since the explosion. Not ‘mage,’ ‘spellbind,’ ‘Herald,’ or any other ridiculous title people tried to pin on her. Just Kaitlyn. It felt good to hear it again.

“Getting along with Curly, I see.”

“I am not!” Kaitlyn snapped, her blush spreading across her face and down her neck.

Varric raised an eyebrow and the heat in her skin continued to rise.

“Not in _that_ way. We were just talking about templars and the Breach and—stop smirking at me, Varric!”

“All right, all right.” He held his hands up in a placating gesture and Kaitlyn’s gaze shifted to the book in his right hand. _Tale of the Champion_. The copy was nothing short of regal with its leather binding, crushed velvet cover, and golden clasps. “I come in peace. Just thought that you’d might like your blackmail a little early. I mean _gift_. How clumsy of me.”

Kaitlyn grinned as she took the book into her hands, running her fingers along the embossed cover. Beautiful. A work of art in its own right. She flipped the cover open and frowned at the inscription inside.

“‘To Sweets—’ Is ‘Sweets’ supposed to me?”

“Until you find someone else who can eat three boxes of Orlesian pastries in the space of an hour without getting sick, I think ‘Sweets’ works perfectly for you. Unless you prefer ‘Herald,’ of course.”

“No. No, I like Sweets.” _To Sweets—The finest Herald I’ve ever met. The only Herald I’ve ever met, but still the finest._ She traced the letters, her grin growing until her cheeks ached. She hadn’t expected to get her own copy, let alone one so fine. Pressing the book to her chest, she focused on every detail of the moment, wanting to imprint it on her memory. “I love it, Varric. Thank you.”

“I figured that, since you’ve saved my life at least once by now, it was only fair if you got one of the fancier editions.”

“It’s absolutely perfect.” She stared at Varric for a moment and bit her lip.

_Are we friends?_

It would be a strange question to simply ask him. They’d known a couple months, and most of that time had been spent on long, silent hours on the road. He had no memory of what had happened in the dark future. And if the Breach hadn’t thrown them together, she doubted either of them would’ve ever spoken to the other.

“Varric, I…” Better not to ask: he might not answer as she wanted him to. “I, uh—” She cleared her throat. “Why do you call the Commander ‘Curly’?”

“You mean you haven’t seen it yet?”

“Seen what?”

Varric’s body shook with his laughter; the wrinkles around his eyes deepened and he had to lean on his knees to keep himself upright. “I’m not spoiling _that_ surprise for you, Sweets. You’re going to have to stick around and see it for yourself.”

“See _what?_ ”

He grinned, lips pressed tight together.

“You’re a terrible person. You know that, right?”

He winked. “I do try my best.”

“I could find a way to make you tell me,” she said.

“But you won’t.”

“How do you know th—Dorian?” She blinked at the mage as he came barreling through the soldiers and templars, waving away anyone who drew too close. He appeared a disheveled mess—at least by his normal standards: his hair was disheveled, his moustache lacking its usual curl, and his robes were askew with several of the buckles left undone. He’d faced droves of demons and corrupted soldiers without seeming so out of sorts.

“You need to convince Felix that he should stay,” Dorian said when he came within earshot.

“Alexius’ boy?” Varric asked.

“Yes.” Dorian kept his eyes on Kaitlyn. “He’s already talking about heading back to Tevinter, but you _need_ to convince him that he should stay with the Inquisition instead.”

“Why me?”

“You’re the Herald!”

“So?”

“You’re the nearest thing we have to a leader. Make him understand that he needs to be here. Order him to stay!”

“Dorian, I don’t think I can—”

“ _Please_.” He took one of her hands. She glanced to Varric, who merely shrugged before beginning his retreat. Traitor. “Please talk to him.”

She recognized the desperation in his eyes, the near maddening desire to keep the things you loved from slipping between your fingers. “He’s a guest here, Dorian. I can’t order him to drink a glass of water, much less stay here in this frozen wasteland of red lyrium.”

“Talk to him, then. He wants to go gallivanting back to the Imperium where he can extol your virtues and praise the Inquisition. But it’ll kill him.” His hands tightened on hers. “He won’t listen to me anymore—thinks I’m just trying to prolong the inevitable, but he doesn’t understand.”

“He was attacked by Darkspawn.” She tried to keep her voice gentle as she squeezed his hand. “There is no cure for that.”

“Not yet,” he said. “But there could be. Soon. Alexius and I started working on it after… _after_. It’s why Felix has lived as long as he has. He’s all but given up on it, but I haven’t! Just a few days as part of your Inquisition, and I’ve already made contacts who could help me fill in the blanks that I’ve been missing. I could cure him. I just need more time. So please. Tell him that you need him as a witness at his father’s judgment. Tell him—tell him that his perspective would be useful. Tell him that he could be an ambassador to reach out to Imperium from here. Tell him anything!”

Kaitlyn stared at him a moment before shaking her head. “He said it himself back in Redcliffe—there are worse things than dying.”

“No. No, there isn’t.” Dorian’s shoulders forward, His hand slipped from hers. “It’s selfish of me, I know that, but I can’t let go of him when I’m so close to saving him. I’m not ready for that yet.”

“You can’t hold onto him forever, Dorian.”

“I know,” he said. “I wouldn’t do that to him. I wouldn’t do what Gereon did, but… but I have to try. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t.” He smiled weakly, the usual confidence in his demeanor falling away as he watched the mages while they played. She followed his gaze. Felix sat on the docks near the lake, his legs swinging back and forth absently while he grinned.

“You don’t have to ask him to stay,” Dorian said. “But please let him know that he’s welcome here. He’ll might linger to find out what happens to his father.” He turned back to her. “You won’t kill him, will you?”

“It’s not up to me.”

“It should be. You’re the one he was trying to sacrifice.”

She clenched her teeth, remembering the records of the oculara she’d found in Redcliffe, the tortured screams of Leliana, the pain and devastation Alexius had unleashed on the world. She couldn’t erase the image of Cullen dying from her mind.

“I’m not the only one he hurt,” she said, more to herself than him. “I don’t envy the person who has to decide what to do with Gereon and his Venatori allies. But I will do it—talk to Felix, I mean. After seeing his father get dragged away in chains, he should know that he’s welcome.”

“Thank you,” he said, clasping her around her arms. “Felix is a good man. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Kaitlyn patted his shoulder absently, assuring him again that she’d do what she could before making her way back towards the lake. She glanced over her shoulder as she went, staring up at the Breach she was expected to close. It made her hand itch like a half-healed wound.

Andraste had burned trying to set her world right. She’d died with her task unfinished, her followers thrown into a chaos that had nearly escalated into civil war. Seeing the Breach, knowing the task ahead of her—Kaitlyn wondered if she’d been ‘saved’ at the Temple only to be sacrificed here as Andraste had been so many ages ago.

She looked out at the mages again, at Felix and Dorian, at Varric and Cullen, at Bull and his Chargers. She smiled. If she was to die, then at least she wasn’t dying alone.


	8. Closing the Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaitlyn managed to close the Breach but a greater threat is coming for Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: canon-typical violence

Cullen paced behind the row of mages stationed around the Breach while Kaitlyn stood with Solas and Cassandra at the center. Even from his position, Cullen felt the buzz of magic pouring out of the massive rift. Combined with the lyrium growing out of the stone like weeds, the Veil beckoned him to draw nearer like a siren’s call. Wincing at the song, he rubbed the back of his neck and forced himself to concentrate.

“Let her will draw upon yours!” Solas shouted from below.

Cullen nodded to the few templars nearby. They drew their swords as Cullen did with his. Closing his eyes, he prayed in his heart: _Let it work_. _Let Kaitlyn survive._

Magic pulsed through the air as the mages pressed their staves into the ground. Their power flowed like water to the Herald’s mark. It gathered at Kaitlyn’s feet, casting her in a pale green glow, intensifying the song of the Fade that hung around her shoulders as a shroud.

 _Let it work_.

Kaitlyn staggered forward, hand raised, the gathered magic wrapping around her body like a shadow self. Her mark sputtered and burned. The magic pulsed and brightened. Her knees buckled. Light shot out of her hand. It pulled her upwards until her feet dangled above the ground, her body twisting as she screamed.

_Let her live._

The mages wavered. Cullen tightened his grip.

_Please!_

The rift imploded. The built up magic exploded outwards, sending Kaitlyn flying with it. Cullen braced for the impact, grunting when the wave of energy hit him, stirring the traces of lyrium that remained in his blood. His body shuddered. He fell to a knee, panting under the strain as the lyrium within began to burn, _begging_ him to take another taste. He clenched his eyes, focusing on his breathing to better ignore the thirst. He could endure this. He would!

The magic fizzled, then slowly died. Cheers rose up, building until the sound drowned out all else. Cullen pushed onto his feet, before rushing past the celebrating mages.

“Herald!” He ran down to where she was struggling to stand.

“I’m all right.” Kaitlyn panted. Sweat dripped down her forehead as her chest heaved. Her knees shook when she stood. Green sparked in her palm as she flexed her hand before shaking it out as though it pained her. When she looked at him, she was smiling. “I’m actually all right.”

“Then it’s done.” Cassandra said as she joined them. “We should return. Josephine and the others will want to hear the good news.”

“I think they can see the good news for themselves,” Kaitlyn said. Her smile weakened and she staggered to the side. Cullen reached out to steady her but Cassandra got there first.

“You two go on ahead,” he said. “I should check in with our watchguards to ensure everything’s as it should be.”

“Right now?” Kaitlyn asked even as Cassandra started hauling her away.

“I won’t be long,” he promised with a smile. In truth, he needed to be away from the others, to be away from the magic and lyrium that swirled around him, threatening to drown his resolve. Turning, he marched away, sucking in the cold air greedily as he went. The Breach was closed. He frowned as he considered what that truly meant. Up till now, the Breach had been their unifying purpose; it had been the reason Kaitlyn had stayed. Celene’s potential assassination, this ‘Elder One,’ the murder of the divine—important, yes, but none were strong enough to keep the Inquisition together.

“Ser!”

Cullen blinked, the present returning to focus as one of the scouts came barreling towards him. “What’s wrong?”

“A massive force, ser!”  Cullen caught the woman as she all but ran into him, her breath coming out as crystallized puffs. He recognized her. It was the same woman who’d stood with him and Rylen when the demons had been pouring out, the woman who’d been unable to use her bow. She looked up at him with eyes that were far too young to hold such terror. “They’re coming over the mountain!”

“What banner are they flying?” he asked. If there was even a _chance_ they could be friendly… Perhaps the Templars had decided to join them after all.

“None, ser.”

“None?”

She shook her head.

“The other watchguards?”

Another shake.

_Shit._

“Come on, then.” Half-sweeping the woman into his arms, Cullen took off at a run to the main camp. He shouted along his way, yelling for everyone to raise whatever alarm they could. They needed to withdraw the civilians and children before the enemy drew near. Leaving the scout with a healer, Cullen slammed the gates behind him, latching it shut before continuing to where Cassandra and Kaitlyn stood. “Forces over the mountain. No banner. Most of the guards have already been eliminated.”

“What do we—”

Kaitlyn’s question died when a sharp knock rattled the main gates.

“I can’t come in unless you open!”

Cassandra stepped forward, sliding the latch across with one swift pull before she backed away.

A templar stood on the other side, his face cracked and glowing like the corrupted lyrium. He started forward, sword raised. Cullen rushed ahead, placing himself between Kaitlyn and the attacker.

The templar fell to his knees before Cullen could even draw his sword. He frowned at the faint shine of metal sticking out of the man’s chest. A figure crouched behind the felled templar, large hat draping over his face, a second templar draped across his shoulders. “I’m Cole. This is Delrin. He got your letter for the templars. Wanted to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.”

Cullen stepped closer and the man retreated.

“Templars?” Cullen asked. “Is this the Order’s response after we reached out to them? To attack blindly?

“The red templars went to the Elder.” The pale stranger slipped around towards Kaitlyn, moving with surprising agility considering the weight he carried. “You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.”

“Again with this Elder One?” Cullen snarled, shifting to keep the intruder away from the Herald. “Who’s he tricked this time?”

“He was a kind man once: took letters for a distant sweetheart, but the letters damned them both. The other one can read the letters all day but feels nothing of the love they once carried.”

Cullen’s eyes widened. Samson.

“He’s _very_ angry that you took his mages.”

“Cullen.” Kaitlyn grabbed his arm, turning him around. “Give me a plan: anything!”

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Our soldiers must go out there and hit that force with everything we can.” He stared at her a moment and his jaw clenched. The circles under her eyes had darkened since this morning. Closing the Breach had already drained what little energy she’d had.

“Mages!” Cullen turned to the gathering group, hardly able to believe the words forming on his tongue. “You—you have sanction to engage them. That is Samson. He will not make it easy! Inquisition, with the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!”

The soldiers and mages scattered. Cullen grabbed Cassandra’s arm as she began to depart. “Keep the Herald safe.”

“I will,” she promised, before running after Kaitlyn and the others.

“Everyone else,” Cullen yelled, “back to the Chantry.”

He tore through the buildings, gathering the healers and civilians and children. _Children_. His chest tightened as he pulled a young girl and the mage boy from before into his arms, holding them tight as he ran for the Chantry. They should’ve left the children somewhere safer. They should’ve had more defenses, more soldiers, more _everything_. Dropping the children inside the solid walls, he glared at the smiths who clumsily waved the swords they’d made “I want you in the Chantry as well,” he called to them.

They shook their heads, grins plastered across their faces as they charged into battle.

Fools! They’d had no training: they were more liable to stick their swords into each other than they were to kill an enemy.

“Mother Giselle, take the children underground where it’s safest.” He didn’t wait to see if she’d heard him before surging back into the fray. He had to help the Herald. If the stranger—Cole—was right, Samson would focus his forces on her.

An ear-splitting _crack_ stopped him cold. He jerked around to the source of the sound and laughter bubbled inside his chest. Snow was pouring down the side of the mountain, crushing the templars beneath its force as it swept them aside like the arm of the Maker itself. He raised his sword in victory, hope rising.

It hardened to cold terror when a shriek echoed through the valley. Flames spread before his eyes as a dragon, corrupt as the soldiers it fought with, swept low over Haven. Buildings disintegrated into ash. Men and women withered in sickening screams. The creature carved a path through the snow, leaving a wide berth for the remaining templars to punch through straight to the heart of Haven.

“Everyone,” Cullen screamed, “back to the Chantry! It’s the only building that might hold against that beast!” A dragon. A corrupted High Dragon. It took armies, _nations_ , to destroy such a thing.

“Commander!” Kaitlyn stood only a few paces away. Blood trickled down her left cheek from a shallow gash. Her eyes were wild, hair ruffled. Magic fizzled around her as her barrier decayed. “What do we do?”

She was dead. Just as he was dead. Just as they were _all_ dead. The dragon had smothered any chance of survival. Cullen took a step closer, wishing they’d had more time, wishing they could’ve spoken together as friends like they’d planned.

“At this point,” he said, “just make them work for it.”


	9. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Haven under attack, Kaitlyn takes a risk in the hopes of saving the Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: canon-typical violence.

Bodies were burning.

Cullen ground his teeth, trying to ignore the stench as he held one of the Chantry sisters tight against his chest, his shield held above both their heads. Flames licked around the edge of the metal, threatening to consume them. Gripping the woman closer, Cullen used his body to block the bulk of the heat. He grimaced at the acrid scent of charred fur.

The dragon pulled away, arcing towards the front of Haven. Cullen took off with the sister at a run towards the Chantry. Inside, a child was crying, curled up in Sera’s lap as she stroked the the small boy’s hair. Men moaned under healers’ hands as they tended to scorched limbs. Solas was treating the scout Cullen had brought in. Turning back to the battle, he paused to take in the chaos. So many people had been reduced to ash, blades half-melted in the snow. _Damn_ them. Why hadn’t they listened when he’d told them to pull back?!

Shaking off the guilt, Cullen ordered two guards to do a final sweep of the buildings with Blackwall before he charged towards the main gates. A behemoth—too twisted to be called a man but too recognizable to be a monster—stood beside one of the trebuchets, its clawed arm of red lyrium raised above its head. Near a half dozen men clustered around it, armed with swords and shields. Dorian and Varric stood on a pillar of ice above the fray, arrows and bolts of fire raining down on the madness below. Blades and crystalized arms hacked at the pillar but did little more than chip the ice. Kaitlyn stood at the center of the chaos, her staff blade buried in the snow as ice crept up the behemoth’s legs, freezing it into place. A large mallet bashed the frozen creature, snapping it apart into chunks with a sickening crack as Bull laughed from deep within his chest.

A sword raised behind Kaitlyn’s back.

Cullen surged forward.

The metal fizzled against Kaitlyn’s dying barrier, threatening to break through. She turned. Cassandra was running from the opposite direction. Dorian had redirected his flame towards the attacking templar.

Cullen reached him first. Heaving the templar against the ice pillar, Cullen ran his blade straight through the man’s heart. His face was cracked and glowing red. The perpetual song of the red lyrium danced through the dying man’s eyes before Cullen ripped out his sword and let the man fall. He turned, shield at the ready, but the rest of the group had already been punctured or singed beyond recognition.

“We seem to be clear for the moment,” Cullen said. “Everyone’s regrouping at the Chantry: we may not get another chance to catch our breath like this again.” He caught Cassandra’s eye and she gave him a grim nod. They were dead, but… at least this way, some of the people might die with hope instead of terror.

“Right behind you,” Kaitlyn said as she brought down her tower of ice. Blood continued to trickle down her cheek, mixing with the sweat on her skin.

Cullen waited until the others passed before joining her side on their weary return to the Chantry. Her eyes were glazed, chest heaving, skin flushed. She wouldn’t last much longer in a fight. None of them would. Even Cassandra lacked the usual conviction in her step.

“Do you think…?” Kaitlyn started to ask as they neared the Chantry doors. “Um—that is… what if we put Mother Giselle and the children down in basement where the cells are. It’s possible that once the main building is burned, the templars won’t press into the cellars and we could put spells in place that would prevent fire from spreading down there—no; they should have some of the mages with them. Fiona, at the very least. She’ll protest, but she’s the closest thing the mages have for a leader. Maybe Vivienne or Dorian too. Or is that ridiculous? I know there’s not a _lot_ of room down there, but I was hoping that maybe…” She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why can’t every building have escape tunnels like Redcliffe Castle?”

He smiled. She could’ve run. There were so many times when she could’ve walked away from the Inquisition and its cause. But she’d stayed with them. And now, she was going to die for it. “It’s a good plan. It gives them a chance they might not have otherwise.

“Herald, I—” He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering how he could put it into words. _Thank you_ seemed cold and inefficient. “Promise me you won’t give up. No matter what Samson throws at us, promise me that you’ll keep fighting.”

“I promise.” Kaitlyn said, a light returning to her eyes as she stared at him. “They’re going to regret coming up against the Inquisition, Commander. We’ll make sure of it.”

“I think you already achieved that with the avalanche.” Cullen resisted the urge to embrace her when they stepped inside the Chantry, choosing to latch the doors instead. So few of them remained: a fraction of the people they’d had before. “Roderick!”

Cole was dragging the older man towards a chair.

“He tried to stop a templar,” Cole said. “The blade went deep. He’s going to die.”

“What a charming boy,” Roderick grunted.

Cullen clenched his fists. They had more sisters than soldiers at this point. The healers were already overwhelmed by the wounded. Children’s cries continued to echo up from the basement.

“Herald!” He turned to Kaitlyn again, back straight, decision set. “You’ve seen it for yourself. That dragon cannot be stopped by the tools we have with us. Our position is…” He clenched his jaw, unable to say it with so many ears in the room.

“Archdemon,” Cole said, “not a dragon. I was in the Fade when I saw it, but it looked like that.”

“I don’t care what it _looks_ like. It has cut a path for that army. They’ll kill—” Cullen moved in closer to the boy, his voice cutting down to a harsh whisper. “They’ll kill everyone in Haven.”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.” Cole’s watery gaze turned to Kaitlyn. “He wants to kill _you_. No one else matters, but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like…?” Cullen rolled his eyes. There was no room for such ridiculous sentiments when their lives were at risk. “Herald, there is only one thing that might be able to stop that army. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

“We’d be killing ourselves along with them.” Kaitlyn studied his expression for a moment; the color drained from her face. “You really think—is there no chance? No chance for any of us?”

“… No. No, there’s not.” Cullen stared at her. If her face was going to be the last one he ever saw, then at least it was a pretty one. One he wished he’d seen more of. “We’re dying, Kaitlyn. But we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.”

She nodded once. “I understand.”

“Wait,” Cole called to them. “Yes, _that_. Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

“There is a path,” the man wheezed. Blood seeped between the fingers pressed to his side. “You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage as I have. The people can escape… She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could… tell you.”

“Would that work?” Kaitlyn asked Cullen.

“Possibly,” he said. “ _If_ he shows us the path; _if_ it’s not been buried since then; _if_ the templars don’t already know about it. But we’ll need a distraction. Something that keeps them from following after us.”

“I’ll do it,” Kaitlyn said.

“You can’t,” Cullen said.

“Of course I can. I’m the _only_ one who can; you know that.”

“That’s assuming that this…” Cullen pursed his lips as he stared at Cole. “This man is telling the truth.”

“I have no reason to lie,” Cole said, sounding personally offended. “Lying wouldn’t help.”

Kaitlyn took Cullen by the arm and pulled him further into the corner. “The Elder One wants me. So let him take me. If it can spare everyone in here, then it’s… then it’s worth it.”

“No,” he said.

“Cullen.”

“No!” He tightened his hands. His anger wasn’t at her, but at the situation—she’d already given so much, more than most people would ever understand. “I’m not going to throw you out there just to be—” The words clogged up his throat.

“You _know_ that it’s the only chance we have.”

“I… I know.” He stepped closer, staring into her eyes. She looked down at the floor. Her fingers tightened around her polished staff and electricity jumped along the length of the inscribed wood. His heart ached at the thought of her body laying among the dead. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way to escape.”

“Inquisition!” Cullen pulled away from her side as he addressed the rest of the room. “Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry. There is no time to waste!” He glanced back to Kaitlyn. She was murmuring in Dorian’s ear; lyrium bottles passed from his hands into a small pouch on Kaitlyn’s hip. “Herald, Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line; we'll send up a flare. If we are to have a chance—if _you_ are to have a chance—let that thing hear you.”

“I will, Commander.” Kaitlyn shot him a smile and Cullen’s chest tightened until it became painful to breathe. Cassandra, Varric, Fiona, Rylen, and a handful of the others were staying behind, gathering extra arrows and poultices from the soldiers. He wanted to join them, to fight alongside her in. But his duties remained with the people he had to protect.

Cullen caught Cassandra by the arm when she passed, leaning over to whisper. “Keep her safe for as long as you can.”

She placed a clenched fist over her heart. “I swear my life on it.”

“Cullen!”

He turned to where Kaitlyn stood outside the Chantry doors. She smiled even as tears fell down her cheeks.

“Thanks for telling me your favorite color.”

Kaitlyn slammed her staff down into the snow and the Chantry doors snapped shut with a resounding clang. Frost seeped in between the cracks before ice swallowed the doors whole.

“No!” Cullen ran to the doors, beating his fists upon them. He may as well have tried to beat down a mountain. “You,” he turned on Dorian, “melt it down.”

Dorian scoffed. “I thought the point was _not_ to set the building on fire. Ice that thick—I would never be able to get rid of it in time.”

“So you won’t try at all?” He grabbed the front of the mage’s robes, glaring at the Tevinter. “She trusted you!”

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to try,” Dorian snarled. “But I also know that the only way to get to her is to go through this little pass of yours and come around.”

Cullen tightened his grip, rage pulsing through his veins. Why had she done that? Why had she—

Releasing the mage with a light snarl, Cullen tore to the window. Kaitlyn stood in the center of five templars. They weapons bounced off her barrier, arrows landing harmlessly in the snow. She threw her head back as she downed a bottle of lyrium.

“ _Move!_ ” Cullen barked at those who still lingered. He took the templar Cole had brought with him, slinging the unconscious man across his shoulders before following after Cassandra and Dorian, pausing at the entrance to turn back. Kaitlyn was still standing, still fighting.

“You’re not allowed to die,” he said to the empty room, wishing he’d been able to give the words to her instead. “So don’t you dare give up!”

Cullen stomped down the staircase behind the others, determined not to lose another person to either Samson or this Elder One.

“Dorian!” a man yelled, prompting the mage to rush past Cassandra on their way down. “Dorian, help me!”

Felix stood beside his father’s cell, hands tight around the bars. Lysette was next to him him. Blood trickled down her face from a cut that started at her temple and ran down to her chin. With one hand wrapped around the hilt of her sword and her other arm thrown out across the bars, blocking Felix from his father, her Spell Purge made the air around her oddly void of sensation or smell.

“What’s going on here?” Cullen asked, stepping forward.

“She won’t let my father out!” Felix yelled. “If we’re escaping, then so is he.”

“He’s a prisoner,” Lysette said. “My orders were to keep him here. And I’ll do that until told otherwise.”

“It’s all right, Felix,” Gereon said. “Just escape while you can.”

Felix turned to Cullen. “Commander, _please_. I swear that he won’t harm anyone or try to escape. He’s one of the strongest mages I know, and he could heal or maintain barriers or a thousand other things to help; please give him that chance.”

“Is that a fucking joke?” Cullen snarled. He leaned in closer, not missing the way Dorian tried to position himself between the two of them. “He chose to ally himself with a monster. He tricked and enslaved his fellow mages, ordered the deaths of dozens of Tranquil, and then he tried to kill the Herald. Dorian too, unless you’ve forgotten that. He’s the reason we’re in this mess and you’re asking me to _spare_ him?”

“Yes,” Felix said. “I know he might die for what he’s done, but… yes. Don’t leave him for what’s outside. No one deserves that.”

“He’s the _only_ one who deserves it.” Cullen shifted the unconscious templar on his shoulders, his impatience making his body itch for action. Kaitlyn was fighting for them right now. Maker, she was probably already… already…!

“Commander?” Lysette asked.

“Please,” Felix begged.

“I’ll watch him,” Dorian offered, a silent pleading in his eyes. “There are more important matters to attend to now.”

“Fine,” Cullen snapped to Felix. “Let him go, Lysette, but shadow him until we sort this all out.”

“Yes, ser!”

Cullen stomped around the cell, teeth grinding harder with every step. He grunted in thanks when Rylen came up to him, handing off the unconscious templar as the metallic squeal of Gereon’s cell opening echoed through the room. Nearly everyone else had already passed through the tunnels. They’d stripped the torches as they went, leaving a single light to cast long shadows against the darkness. Josephine and Leliana stood on either side of the open tunnel as though they were waiting for him.

“The Herald?” Josephine asked when he drew close.

Cullen shook his head. “She’s… still fighting.”

“Alone?” The accusation in Leliana’s voice made him pause.

“She decided it on her own,” Cullen said. “I didn’t discover her intentions until it was too late.” He took the last torch and held it up as Rylen, Felix, Gereon, Dorian, and Lysette made their way into the tunnel, leaving the three advisers alone. Advisers who’d failed the one person they should’ve protected above all others.

“We needed the Herald alive,” Leliana said after Josephine had stepped through. The ambassador had looked paler than usual, her ink-stained fingers shaking when she’d accepted Rylen’s offered hand. “She was holding the Inquisition together; her mark was the only thing capable of closing all th—”

“I know!” Cullen dropped his voice down to a hiss. “Do you think I feel no regret for what’s happened? Do you think I _wanted_ to send her off to die alone?”

“I… no. Of course not. I didn’t mean to—”

“We’ll discuss it later,” he said, taking up the tail end of the group. It had only been a few moments, but it felt as though hours had passed since Kaitlyn had sealed the Chantry doors. Alone. Maker preserve her, she was alone against all those _things_. Even if the Elder One wanted her alive, there was no telling what they would do to her to make her pliant. “Hurry!”

The tunnels wound in uneasy patterns. Sections had started to crumble, slowing their escape to a near crawl even as Fiona and Gereon and the other mages moved boulders and melted ice. Soldiers carried children and the wounded as Roderick limped ahead of them all—their sole guide in the darkness as the torches began to sputter and die one by one, leaving only the sisters’ lamps and the mages’ staves to light their way.

Every second was agony.

Cullen tore ahead of the group when he felt the wind on his face. Snatching a bow and quiver from the nearest scout with one hand, he grabbed the front of Gereon’s robes with the other.

“What are you doing?” Felix demanded as Cullen dragged the former magister across the snow.

“I want him to see!” Cullen snapped back, carting the man to a ledge that overlooked the valley. The Chantry burned like a funeral pyre while templars crawled like ants over the carcass of the Haven. And the trebuchet—yes, it was still there. But so was the dragon and its master. He couldn’t see Kaitlyn in the chaos.

Ripping off a strip of cloth from his shirt, Cullen wrapped it around the head of the arrow before ordering one of the sisters to bring their lantern forward. Tipping out some of the oil onto the cloth, he soaked it through before holding it above the flame.

“Don’t light it,” Gereon said. His hand shot out, and with a twist of his fingers, the fire snuffed out. “She’s already dead, and you know it. We’ll only give away our position if you send up that flare.”

“Don’t say that!”

“It’s true. The Elder One wanted the gift she carried with her. It was supposed to be his. He told me that she stole it from him at the Conclave, that he’d rip it out of her to get it back. I’m… I’m sorry, Commander, but she’s already dead.”

Cullen jerked the man closer. How dare he say such things when his hands were drenched in the blood of fallen soldiers. How _dare_ he think about his own escape when so many other lives now lay in ruins because of his choices.

“You are going to light the arrow yourself,” he snarled through clenched teeth. “And if you try to interfere again, I will kill you where you stand.”

He heard the others calling to him. Dorian or Fiona would likely have set the arrow ablaze without prompting, but he wanted it to be Gereon—the man needed to show that he was no longer under the Elder One’s thumb. “Do it,” Cullen told him. “If we don’t take this chance, the army will sweep through these mountain and drown us all out—your son included.”

“I–I—” He sputtered for a moment before his shoulders sagged. Fire sparked in his palm, setting the arrow head aflame.

Cullen turned to Haven. He nocked and drew back the arrow, aiming the tip high into the air. He didn’t want to release it. What if the trebuchet remained still? What if Kaitlyn was already gone? Gereon made a good point—the Elder one wouldn’t know where they were if he extinguished the arrow and walked away.

Cullen’s grip faltered.

“Do it,” Rylen said over his shoulder. “It’s her only chance of escape, and it’s our only chance of survival.”

Cullen nodded once, shame pricking his ears at his hesitation. “Andraste guide you, Kaitlyn,” he whispered, pulling the bow back as far as he could before releasing the arrow into the night.


	10. Bloody but Unbowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaitlyn's confrontation with Corypheus leaves her crippled. Cullen treks off, hoping to recover her in the mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: canon-typical violence, description of injuries

Kaitlyn slumped over the crank of the trebuchet. Sweat ran down the back of her neck while she panted, unable to fully catch her breath. The final dregs of lyrium from Dorian’s bottles had left her over a dozen templars ago; she’d had to rely on her staff as a weapon, barely retaining enough energy to freeze one of those twisted behemoths when it’d charged her. It looked over her now, the red spark dimmed but not gone from its face. _His_ face. Skin a diseased yellow with patches of brown where the lyrium hadn’t pierced through, eyes like coals, teeth rotted and dripping with blood—she’d never seen evil  so close before.

With trembling arms, she heaved against the handle, wincing at the ache in her side. At least one cracked rib. Probably two. She threw her weight behind the action, redoubling her efforts as the gears began to grind into motion. Another wave of soldiers would be on her soon.

“You just had to come out here alone,” she said to herself, wishing she’d grabbed more of those healing draughts. “Never mind that you were one of the least experienced fighters in that room. Oh no, Kaitlyn, you’re going to do great by yourself. Definitely won’t die horrifically.” She grunted faintly when the crank came to a jarring halt, her grip slipping enough that she smashed directly into the handle. Three cracked ribs.

She staggered towards the lever that would send the boulders flying.

“ _Enough!_ ” The shout bore down on her like a physical force as it sent her stumbling face-first into the snow. She was still on her knees when the ear-splitting shriek of the dragon tore overhead. Curling inwards, she tried to protect herself against the scream as it cut through her mind in a corrupted lullaby of blood and broken bones.

The ground trembled when the monster landed some twenty feet away. It snarled and roared, teeth bared, claws ripping at the earth.

“On your feet, usurper.” A man—or some twisted version of a man—stepped out of the dragon’s shadow. Even separated as they were, he towered above her. His fingers were long and claw-like, his thin frame set into sharp angles with the red lyrium that thrust out of his pallid skin. He held no weapon, but there was a force behind him like that of a dark cloud ready to drown the world. “Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One; the will that is Corypheus. Kneel before me.”

The command rattled around in her bones, compelling her to obey out of sheer terror of what he would do to her if she disobeyed. There was no empathy or humanity in his eyes, only a promise of pain.

Kaitlyn clenched her hands until her fingers ached. She started to lower her head, her heart beating faster than she thought possible. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, her body both frozen in place and itching to run, and she could feel _everything_ —the snowflakes melting into her scalp, the mis-sewn hem of her sleeve that rubbed against her wrist, the deformed, malignant magic that pulsed around Corypheus exuding the ever-present order: _obey me_.

No.

Kaitlyn straightened and glared at the man before her, because that’s what he was—a man. Powerful and ancient, but still a man. Her heart slowed to a mere sprint. Relaxing her hands, she slid her left foot back towards the trebuchet. The certainty of death did wonders for eliminating the pettier concerns of life—like the fear of dying.

“I told you to _kneel_.”

She stepped away, trying to make it look as though she were retreating. Another step. So close. Her foot hit the base of the siege weapon. She smiled. “I will not take orders from some twice-baked magister with a fucked up face.”

Kaitlyn turned and took off at a run. Her fingertips grazed along the length of wood.

“No!” Corypheus’ yell echoed through the valley as her hand closed around the lever. The mark burst into life. Pain shot up her arm, shocking her into stillness as she screamed. She fell to her knees. It set her nerves on fire even as her skin seemed to crack and freeze.

“The gall of you,” Corypheus said as he marched up to her. His hand clamped down around her arm before he lifted her as though she were a misbehaving cat. He held an orb up beside the mark—the closer the orb was, the more intense her agony became. It would be a mercy to lose the arm than continue with such torment.

“You flail about at rifts,” he said, “undoing my work, ignorant of the power you hold. What you use in your pathetic scrambling was crafted to assault the very Heavens. Beg that I succeed, _Herald_ , for I have seen the throne of the gods before, and it held nothing but chaos and corruption.”

His grip tightened. He held the orb mere inches from her skin. The pain overwhelmed her. Too much to scream. Too much to breathe. Too much to think. Maker, this was it.

“The anchor is permanent; you have spoiled it with your stumbling.” He tossed her aside with a snarl.

Kaitlyn gasped as her body smashed against the side of the trebuchet, her mind reeling from a mixture of relief and anguish. She glanced to her left—the lever had been shattered.

“So be it,” Corypheus said, his words seemingly meant for himself. “I will begin again. Find another way to give this world the nation—and god—it requires. And you?” He turned to her. “I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.”

She scrambled to her feet, moving around the weaponry best she could as she aimed for the taut rope that held the trebuchet still. Her eyes flicked to the tree line. Had she missed the signal? Surely, enough time had passed. Even if they hadn’t emerged from the tunnels, they _must_ be to a safe distance by now.

Kaitlyn licked her lips, mind scrambling to buy her a few extra seconds as Corypheus stalked towards her.

“It doesn’t matter what you do to me,” she said, stepping up onto the platform, the rope a few feet behind her back. She checked the tree line again and smiled as a brief streak of light flared then died in the distance. She’d done it. She’d actually done it.

“You’ve already failed, Corypheus. _Again_. And when you try again, you will fail again. You will _always_ be stopped. But if you still want to declare yourself a god of this world, go ahead—enjoy this first sacrifice!”

Twirling around, she summoned what little magic she had and froze a section of the rope. Pouring her will into the spell, she jerked her hand to the side. The ice fissured. A heartbeat of silence and then, with a sharp and sudden _crack_ , the rope snapped. The counterweight swung past, barely missing Kaitlyn’s face as the trebuchet flung the boulders onto the mountainside.

Corypheus roared behind her, his cries echoed by his dragon’s. Kaitlyn ran. She didn’t look back to see if he followed, didn’t look up to see if their plan had worked. She ran with abandon, slipping and stumbling and fumbling forwards in a mad scramble to reach the mining shafts just outside of Haven. It was the one place that might be safe, the one place that might—

A force pummeled down on her back, sweeping her up in a smothering haze as she went flying forward. She crashed into a set of wooden planks. The snow from behind continue to press down on her, squeezing her between the snow and the wood. The wood groaned. Her vision darkened. She closed her eyes, let her body relax amidst the chaos, and released her final thoughts as the planks gave way beneath her.

 

* * *

 

Kaitlyn couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead. She lay in the snow, body convulsing, clothes staining with her blood, bits of snow sneaking through the rubble overhead to grace her cheeks. The mark— _Corypheus’_ mark—sputtered and burned, making her wince and groan as a residual ripple of pain traveled through her.

 _You have to keep going_.

The voice was Cullen’s. She could picture his scowling face, the scar on his lip puckering adorably in his anger. He’d gotten out alive. She rested back, smiling at the thought. Cullen, and the others, they were _alive_. Would it really be so terrible if she didn’t join them? If she closed her eyes and slept, never to wake up again? Maybe then everything would stop hurting.

 _You have to keep going_.

Kaitlyn gritted her teeth. There’d been such a deep sadness about him when she’d slammed the doors. _Damn him and his puppy-dog eyes_.

She forced herself to move. A few fingers, then a hand. An arm.

She screamed.

Pain, fresh and raw, tore through her left shoulder, burning its way down her back and through her chest. Rolling—or rather flopping—onto her front, she inched forward at a crawl. She would’ve traded her coat to have her staff back again.

Kaitlyn grumbled as she continued forward on her knees. It felt like hours before she managed to get to her feet again. “You and your lip scar are going to owe me an entire shop full of sweets, Commander. Won’t be smirking then, will you. No.” She kept his face in her head as she moved, letting her cries echo freely throughout the caves at each new wave of torment. “Show you first-hand how… how great mages can be. Damn right, I will. You and… and everyone else.” Cullen, every templar or Chantry sister who’d ever sneered at her, everyone who’d ever called her a ‘spellbind,’ her _parents_. “Show all of you.”

And she needed to live long enough to strangle Blackwall and Varric. _There’s a reason they won_ , indeed. She and Dorian had traveled through time—the two men had talked about Empress Celene and a demon army but hadn’t been able to mention a blighted dragon?!

“What’s that sound, Blackwall?” She dropped her voice, trying to imitate the man’s gruff tone. “‘ _ _There's a reason they won_.’ So insightful! Anything to add, Varric?” She had to pause to catch her breath before impersonating the dwarf. “‘ _ _No. Only that it’s definitely not a dragon, and you don’t need to prepare to fight it_.’”__

‘Cold’ didn’t do the frigid air justice when she stepped outside the caves. The air cut across her skin like knives. Her breath froze before it left her lips, and the last traces of her sweat hardened into beads of ice on her skin. Bringing her hands up to her face, she tried to warm them, tried to force her magic into a flare of hope. The fire in her palms sputtered and died with energy she didn’t have.

Her knees crashed to the snow.

“C-c-come on, i-ice.” Her chattering teeth chopped up the words. “Th-thought w-we were f-friends.”

Her body trembled. Her eyelids grew heavy, drooping, begging for sleep. It would feel so good to lay close. Close her eyes. Drift off. Forget the pain. Forget everything.

_You have to keep going._

“D-d-damn you, C-Cull-llen.” She stood again, fearing her legs would freeze and snap at any moment.

One step in front of the other. Keep going. Eyes down. Curl inward. Endless white as far as she could see. Keep going. Her nose went numb. Then her ears. Her feet. She coughed. Red on white. Fingers next. Arms. Legs.

Kaitlyn staggered blindly, every breath a strain as the cold leeched away her life from the inside out.

Keep going.

They’d be waiting for her at the end of this. They’d be there with warm blankets and warmer smiles. She wanted to see them again. Wanted to talk with Varric and Dorian and Cullen and all the rest. Wanted to experience the freedoms that had always been denied her. _She had to keep going._

White.

Is there anyone there?

Her heart was slowing.

Can anyone hear me? Please?

Keep going.

Please. Someone help me.

Keep going.

Cullen.

Keep…

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean you haven’t found her?” Bottles rattled when Cullen slammed his fists onto the table. He glared at the scouts who’d returned empty-handed, anger pulsing through him. The image of Kaitlyn standing alone against the red tide continued to haunt him. He couldn’t blinked without seeing her surrounded by blades of steel and lyrium, her magic faltering even as she fought.

“She wasn’t among the bodies at Haven, ser. At least…” The scout glanced to the others before staring down at her feet. “At least, not as far as we could tell.”

The burnt bodies. Cullen’s heart fell at the thought of Kaitlyn’s corpse being among the pile of the dead. _No._ She’d activated the trebuchet that had triggered the avalanche. The Elder One’s army had retreated along with his dragon. There had been no time for her to burn. He clung to the thought, forcing it into a fact in his mind.

“If you haven’t found a body,” Cullen barked, “then you haven’t been looking hard enough. There may have been other tunnels or passageways like the one we took.” He barely contained his snarl when one of the guards scoffed. His knuckles ached when he unclenched his hands; Maker keep him from knocking the man senseless. “The Herald managed to close the Breach, gather all the forces we have, and she stood alone against this ‘Elder One.’ _She is alive_.”

“Yes, ser,” the cowed scout muttered, his head lowering as the tips of his ears turned pink.

Cullen dismissed them with a sigh and turned to study the camp. Scouts had been scavenging the remnants of Haven for supplies but hope was already failing. Kaitlyn was the heart of the Inquisition. Without her… Cullen’s chest tightened further and his next breath came out as a wheeze. Snatching up his sword where it had been leaning against the table, he strapped it to his waist and began marching from the camp.

“Commander!”

He didn’t slow when Cassandra approached.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Into the mountains,” he said. “If Kaitlyn—if the Herald found a way to escape, I believe she’d be up there. It’s one of the few places the scouts haven’t already checked.” She touched his arm and Cullen came to abrupt stop, his jaw clenching.

“Do you truly believe she’s alive after all that?”

“… I have to.”                  

Her eyes narrowed and he turned away from the intensity in her gaze. Kaitlyn _had_ to be alive . But each passing second would push her further towards the realm of death. Even if she wasn’t hurt and bleeding, even if she’d found protection from the creatures in the mountains, cold and hunger would claim her soon enough.

“If you’re going to try and stop me,” he said, “don’t bother. I’m determined to find her—in whatever condition she may be.”

“I understand,” she said. “And I want to go with you.”

Cullen frowned, mouth parting in a question he never voiced. There was no telling what they would find, and having Cassandra at his side would only increase the chances of Kaitlyn’s safe return. “Thank you,” he said at last. She gave him a stiff nod before shouting at several nearby guards to join them. Cullen turned to the mountains, willing them to reveal the Herald’s location.

_Hold on, Kaitlyn. We’re coming._

 

* * *

 

Snow blanketed everything in unending white. Panting against the growing weariness in his body, Cullen counted each crunching footstep. One hundred. Three hundred. Eight hundred. His ears rung, his neck burned, his head pounded. He sucked in another cold breath and forced his legs to continue forward. The counting helped.

Cullen kept Kaitlyn’s face sharp in his mind, turning her into the focal point of his energy. He wouldn’t stop until he’d found her again—one way or the other.

“We need to head back soon,” one of the guards said. He was tall and round and his cheeks were a deep scarlet against the snow. “It’s getting dark.”

“You can leave if you wish,” Cullen’s voice was clipped. He had no time to waste on idle conversations. “I won’t stop until we’ve recovered the Herald.”

Cassandra’s fingers on his shoulder made him pause. They’d scoured the mountains for hours with no trace of Kaitlyn. He glanced up at her and bit the inside of his cheek. Resignation rested alongside regret in her dark eyes.

“I’m not giving up,” he murmured so only she could hear. “She didn’t come this far to disappear on us now. She’s out here somewhere, Cassandra; I’m sure of it.”

Cassandra squeezed his arm. “Then I shall continue with you.”

Cullen gave her a subdued smile and counted another handful of steps. Darkness crept among the steep mountainsides, threatening to force them back to retrieve lamps and torches. Cullen thrust a hand into his pocket instead, fingers tightening around the coin there. He murmured a prayer as he walked, the canticle falling naturally from his lips as his mind scattered elsewhere. His eyes scoured the path ahead. He stopped. Something twinkled against the dying light. He waited, counting the heartbeats. Another glint. The wind picked up, casting snow aside. A patch of dark hair created a sudden contrast against the snow.

“It’s her!” He shouted, kicking himself into a sprint even as Cassandra cried out _Thank the Maker._ He fell then straightened then fell again. “Kaitlyn!” He was crawling now, clawing his way up the mountainside as he closed the distance between them. He fell down on all fours at her side and his breath left him.

Kaitlyn lay still in the snow, her eyes closed, lashes covered with a kiss of frost. Her skin bordered on pale save for her nose and ears where the cold had blackened her skin. He leaned over, letting his cheek hover above her lips. Relief made his arms tremble when the barest puff brushed against his skin. Cullen ripped his glove off with his teeth to feel her pulse. Slow and uneven but alive. She was _alive_.

“We need to get her to camp.” Cassandra came up from behind him, then gasped, her body frozen at the sight of their Herald.

“Warn the healers,” Cullen told the scouts. “They’ll need to prepare so she can be treated immediately.” He ran his hands lightly down Kaitlyn’s coat, inspecting for injuries that he might worsen upon moving her. Her left arm bent at the wrong angle and a purple bruise peeked out from beneath her shirt. Several cuts—already congealed and brown—marked her face. “Make sure every poultice and lyrium potion is at their disposal.”

Cullen slid the mantle from his shoulders and bundled the mage within them. He put his gloves over her hands next, grimacing at the dark, blue-tinted skin. She felt like ice when he held her. Even through the armor and the layers between them, a deep chill settled into him as he carried her down the mountainside.

“Kaitlyn?” he asked softly. She was alive, but for how long? “Kaitlyn, can you hear me?” He held her tighter when she remained silent, going as fast as he dared until he reached the edge of camp.

Even then, Cullen refused to let her go.

Soldiers and Sisters all flocked to him as he carried Kaitlyn between the tents, wanting to see their Herald. Some fell to their knees with praise on their lips; others turned their backs and murmured at how Andraste’s chosen could be reduced to such a state. Cullen pushed through them all, cradling Kaitlyn’s body to him as he marched into the healer’s tent. He winced at the lyrium-laced magic filling the air, holding Kaitlyn a moment longer than he intended, before giving her over to the healers’ bed. “Can you help her?”

An old woman pushed him aside. She removed Cullen’s gloves to inspect Kaitlyn’s fingers, turning them over in her hands. “The frost is set in deep. We’ll do what we can but she’s in the Maker’s hands as much as she is in ours.”

Healers flocked around Kaitlyn, cutting her coat and stripping her bare. Cullen’s stomach turned. Her skin was laced with dark purple bruises that had yellowed around the edges. She had at least one cracked rib, likely more. There was deep gash that traveled along the length of her right leg and more bruises marked the surrounding skin. His eyes swept up again as they stripped her of her breast band and Cullen felt his cheeks warm. He turned away, a twinge of shame burning the back of his neck that he would react in such a way at a time like this.

“What can I do to help her?”

“Stay out of our way.”

Cullen frowned. “There must be something.” He caught the arm of one of the mages who passed. “Please,” he begged. “Please give me a task. If I just sit here doing nothing, I’ll go mad.”

The man’s scowl softened. “It wouldn’t hurt if we had more supplies from Haven.”

“I’ll bring back everything I can find.” Cullen paused a moment and glanced to Kaitlyn. If he hadn’t felt her pulse for himself, he would’ve thought her dead already. His knees went weak at the thought of returning with poultices only to discover she’d slipped away while he was gone. “Do whatever you have to. Just save her, _please_.”

“We’ll do what we can.”

Cullen let them push him from the tent. He stood there, feeling the curious eyes of the camp on the back of his neck.

“Commander?” Josephine asked. Her usually splendid dress had been reduced to singed rags of sullied gold. Her hair hung in messy strands around her face, and her fingers clenched and wrung together in a continual pattern. “The Herald, is she…?”

“She lives,” he said. He tried to force a smile, to show some sign of reassurance but the gesture felt hollow and cold. Cullen brushed his fingers against the tent flap, another prayer in his heart as he pictured Kaitlyn laying within. He thought of his coin.

“Josephine?”

“Yes?”

Cullen pulled the coin from his pocket. It was the one thing he still had of his family, the _one_ thing he’d owned and kept through all these years. “Could you set this by the Herald’s bed? It’s a… a good luck charm.”

Her eyes widened a fraction before she smiled. “Of course, Commander.”

He thanked her when she took it, feeling both exposed and relieved as he watched her carry the coin inside. He stood there another moment, frustrated that he hadn’t been able to do more to help her, ashamed that he’d almost been swayed by Alexius’ words to walk away, afraid that he would lose the chance of getting to know her. And then, with a wary smile and a faint sense of hope, he turned and stalked into the night.


	11. Frozen Agony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen waits for Kaitlyn to recover.

Haven was gone. The buildings glowed like dying embers, the people within reduced to agonized ash. The scouts had dug borrows through the snow to access the buried buildings, though a handful had escaped the avalanche's anger.

Cullen hefted Kaitlyn’s scorched trunk—the only thing that had survived from her half-buried cabin—as he marched down the mountain path. There’d been nothing that the scouts and Bull’s Chargers hadn’t already reclaimed, leaving Haven as a picked-over carcass. Cullen gritted his teeth as he paused to collect another handful of Elfroot. He thawed out the leaves with his breath and fingers before storing the collection into the trunk along with Kaitlyn’s things.

Grey began spilling over the mountain peak: the warning of the oncoming dawn. He grunted, quickening his pace as he trudged to the encampment below. Dying fires licked the cracked remnants of burnt logs, casting long shadows over the handful of soldiers who paced throughout the camp. The only other light came from the healer’s tent.

“How is she?” Cullen asked as he set the trunk inside.

“She’s fucking cold!” Bull snapped from the bed.

Kaitlyn—now wrapped in bandages—was draped across Bull’s front. The qunari’s hands rubbed along her back in slow, circular motions. Cullen had never thought of Kaitlyn as small until that moment. Bull could miniaturize anyone who stood beside him but Kaitlyn, with her bandages and shallow breaths, appeared closer to a sick child than an injured warrior.

“Um…” Cullen cleared his throat and glanced away. Bull was the proper choice to keep Kaitlyn warm. He was large enough to cover more of her skin and his size made him run hotter than the average human but it still felt… off to see Kaitlyn in his arms. He shifted from one foot to another as he tried to shake off the nagging emotion. “Has she improved?”

“Barely,” Vivienne said as she washed her hands off in a basin. Her clothes were torn, her face smudged, but she retained her regal air as she weaved around the other mages in the small space.

“We managed to restore a bit of color to her fingers and nose,” Fiona said, placing her hand on Kaitlyn’s forehead. “We believe her affinity for ice will help her keep her fingers, but she’s still not responding to stimulus in the rest of her extremities. I’ll feel better once she opens her eyes.”

“… I see.” Cullen stepped aside when Dorian came through the tent flaps. “I managed to collect some elfroot. There weren’t any poultices left at Haven that I could find.”

“Every bit helps, my dear.” Vivienne motioned to a small table where he could set them down before raising an eyebrow at him. “Anything else, Commander?”

“I, uh—” He had no real reason to stay. “Can nothing else be done for her?”

“Boss’ll be fine,” Bull rumbled, a gentle teasing in his tone. “ _I’m_ the one you should be worrying about. Stuck here without a snack or drink. And how’m I supposed to take a piss when the time comes? Hmm?”

Cullen glanced to him, grateful for the distraction. “I’m sure we can figure something out with a bottle if nothing else.” He chuckled softly at Bull’s grimace. Kneeling down in front of Kaitlyn’s trunk, Cullen eased the lid open, hoping to find some trinket that he could place beside his coin—something familiar for her to awaken to. A change of clothes, a handful of runes, a small bag of cookies—Cullen smiled at that, recalling the boy who’d run through the snow for sweets—and a book wrapped in velvet.

He peeled back the top layer and his lip curled.

_Tale of the Champion._

He set the book back in place with a heavy sigh. He’d never read the novel himself. He had no desire to revisit the ghosts that haunted his dreams in his waking hours, no desire to go through a recounting of six years of his life, of all the things he’d done, and all the things he’d _failed_ to do.

“I’ll leave you to your work,” he said to the healers before retreating to the tent glaps. He paused to look at Kaitlyn again. Her cheeks were marked with bruises and scrapes, darkened by the severe cold. His stomach twisted into tight knots, guilt choking him from the inside. The image of her standing alone had yet to leave his thoughts. With a prompting nudge from Dorian, Cullen muttered an apology and took his leave.

He wandered through the camp, mind too frantic for sleep. There had to be some other task, some way to reach her as she was. He stopped at one of the dying fires. Varric sat there, Bianca on his lap as he polished the old crossbow. Cullen sat across from him, staring at the dwarf who spared him little more than a glance.

“Can’t sleep either, Curly?”

“No.”

“Nights like these, I’m glad I can’t dream. After seeing that _thing_ back in Haven, well… there are a lot more restless soldiers tonight than there were yesterday.”

Cullen mumbled an agreement. Many of the workers and recruits were new to war. Seeing Haven burn like that would be a rude awakening to the realities of what was to come. “Any deserters?”

“None that I could see. Seeker’s been keeping people relatively calm since everything started crumbling apart. And you bringing Sweets back to camp seems to have improved things a bit.” Varric’s face darkened in the shadows, his movements slowing as he said under his breath, “Don’t know what’ll happen if she dies though.”

“Don’t say that.” Cullen cleared his throat when his voice broke. “Kaitlyn won’t—The Herald’s stronger than this. She’ll pull through.”

Varric raised an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure you’re right, Curly.” He dipped his rag back into a small container before continuing to rub down Bianca’s wooden parts. He cradled the weapon, eyes softening as he brought it close for inspection.

“Can I ask a favor?” Cullen asked.

“Of _me?_ ” Varric smirked. “Have I graduated from my status of unwelcome tagalong?”

“You know as well as I that if you were truly unwelcome, Cassandra would’ve thrown you out of Haven long before now.” Cullen smiled when the other man laughed.

Varric set his crossbow aside with a gentle pat and looked at Cullen. “What did you have in mind?”

“While the Herald’s indisposed, I thought she might appreciate it if you read to her.” Cullen frowned at how childish the request sounded out loud. “It’s said that people can still hear when you’re talking to them, and I know that she considers you a friend. It would be best if the words came from you.”

“And do you have a copy of this magical book I’m supposed to read? I don’t know if you noticed, Curly, but the library at Haven isn’t exactly accessible right now.”

“Her copy of _Tale of the Champion_ survived. It’s in the tent with her now.”

Varric’s eyes widened, the fire turning them into a deep russet gold. “You _want_ me to read that to her? You _do_ remember what happens in that book, don’t you? What _you_ did?”

Cullen’s jaw tightened. “Of course I remember.”

“And you remember that Sweets is a mage, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Cullen said through clenched teeth.

“Well, _shit_ ,” Varric said the word with a weak chuckle as he leaned back, darkness obscuring most of his face. “Never thought I’d live to see a day like this. I suppose I could soften some—”

“No,” Cullen snapped. “If she wants to know the truth of what happened in Kirkwall, then… then she should know all of it.”

“I’m flattered that you think my humble book is a complete picture of what happened, but if I read that to her, Sweets is going to think you’re still—”

“I know.” Cullen gripped his hands, his chest tightening to the point of pain. Would she hate him after hearing the things he’d said? Or the things he'd done? His cowardice? He buried his face in a hand, the guilt of the last decade crushing him beneath every hateful word and ignored deed. “Let her think what she will; I’m not going to pretend the past didn't happen.”

“All right,” Varric said. “If that’s what you really want.”

“… It is.”

Varric shook his head, and cursed under his breath. “I’ll drop by later after I’ve finished with Bianca.”

Cullen muttered his thanks before standing again. _Look to the future_ , he reminded himself. The damage of Kirkwall was done. Haven was destroyed. But the Inquisition remained. He repeated the words to himself as he returned to pacing around camp. Rylen stood guard over the tent Gereon was lodged in—nothing to report. Roderick had passed in the night. 

“You!” Cullen caught the arm of a man who tried to scamper past. He frowned at the pale man. Cullen knew the man in front of him, but… how? The memory slipped from focus even as he tried to remember. “You were… you warned us about Samson, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“Where’s the templar you brought with you?”

“Dozing now, trying not to dream.” He pointed towards one of the tents on the edge of camp, the rest of his words echoing behind Cullen’s shoulder as he marched off. “The red pulses and burns behind his eyes. He tried to make them stop, tried to make them listen… their hearts were already lost.”

The templar bolted upright when Cullen entered the tent. The light sheen of sweat made his dark skin glisten in the light from the lantern outside. He was panting, eyes widened in terror.

“You’re all right,” Cullen said, keeping his hands up as he carefully crouched down to make himself appear like less of a threat. “Do you know where you are?”

The templar—Delrin—nodded sharply. “The healers, they told me about—” He rubbed a hand over his face, eyes closing for a moment. “I still can’t believe the Lord Seeker betrayed us like that.”

“Tell me everything.”

Delrin straightened, his legs tucked in close, arms loose and fidgeting as though he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “The letter from the Inquisition had just arrived, asking if we’d still like to set up a meeting…”

Cullen listened as Delrin described the bizarre behavior of his superiors, the harsh commands and cold eyes. “Everything just fell apart after that,” Delrin muttered, explaining how the Lord Seeker had been exposed as a demon, the red templars destroying them from within, smashing their way through the other templars like wild fire burning tinder.

“The rest of us ran when we saw that Therinfal Redoubt was beyond the point of saving. Me, and a handful others, stayed behind at the bridge, trying to hold off the attack so everyone else could escape. I thought I was dead when I felt arms lifting me up.”

“And _did_ the others escape?” Cullen asked.

“They were still running the last I remember, but who knows if they managed to outrun those… _things_.”

“At least there’s hope that they survived,” Cullen said. “We can send out search parties once we’ve regrouped.”

“To what end?” Delrin asked. “The Order has fallen. It was destroyed from _within_. The mages that serve your Inquisition were nearly destroyed in the same attack.”

“The Inquisition has only faltered. We may have taken a beating but we’re still standing, and so long as there are people willing to fight, there’s still hope that we can set the world right again, stop the Elder One’s plans.”

Red lyrium in the dark future Kaitlyn had seen and now the Order fallen to the same corruption. And Samson. Cullen clenched his jaw. What had made him fall so far to serve under someone who would slaughter templars and mages alike?

Cullen stayed with Delrin, passing the time with hushed conversations, until the sun spilled out over the camp. Leaving the templar to rest, Cullen returned to pacing throughout the tents, milling aimlessly from task to task as he busied his hands in the hopes of distracting his mind. The day crawled itself away into an eternal night. And still, Cullen couldn’t rest. Elfroot for the injured. Food for the hungry. More wood for the fires. Distribute blankets. Melt snow for drinking water. Guard the perimeter. Help the Tranquil prepare poultices.

Kaitlyn never left his thoughts—the discolored skin of her bruises, the struggled wheeze of her breath, the freezing weight of her in his arms—He hovered around the healer’s tent, Varric’s voice a comforting drone against the darkness.

A second day passed.

Then a third.

Bull returned to his Chargers. Kaitlyn’s bruises continued to turn from purple to yellow; her fingers thawed to their natural color. But whatever the healers tried, she remained asleep.

Cullen sat down at her bedside, Varric dozing in the corner, the book dangling from his loosening hands.

“Kaitlyn?” Cullen asked. Foolish, he knew, to expect her to awaken at the sound of his voice. But that didn’t stop hope from prickling away at his chest. He brushed his knuckles across her cheek, relief trickling down his spine at the warmth he felt. He checked her bandages to see if they needed changing, took his coin from the table, held it, set it back down, then checked the bandages again. Checking to see if Varric was truly asleep, Cullen shifted closer to her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should’ve found you sooner. I should’ve been quicker, smarter. Maker forgive me, Kate, if you don’t come out of this, I…”

His fault. If she died it would be _his_ fault.

Again.

His hands fisted in his frustration and inner rage. “I’ll do whatever it takes to help you recover.” He paused before taking one of her hands into his own. He warmed her fingers between his palms, wishing there was some defined task that would revive her—a rare blossom on a frozen peak, a creature from the depths of the Waking Sea. _Anything._

A fourth day came.

Cullen battled the weariness in his drooping eyes, his shoulder hovering above Kaitlyn’s cot. His head rolled down, nearly resting on her pillow.

“Tired, Commander?”

Cullen mumbled something as he rubbed his eyes. He should’ve let Cassandra take over when she’d offered but the thought of leaving Kaitlyn’s side now made his stomach drop. He blinked, head shifting to the side.

Kaitlyn gave him a weak smile dimmed somewhat by the wince that followed.

“You’re awake.”

“Yes,” she said. “I believe I am.”

“You’re awake.”

“More awake than you are at the moment.”

Cullen straightened, eyes wide as they swept over her. She had propped herself up on her pillow, the bowl of soup on the nearby table drained of its contents. He grinned. “You’re awake!”

“I think we’ve covered that part, Commander.”

Cullen laughed freely. He tore from his seat, shouting for the whole camp to hear that their Herald had awoken. He returned to Kaitlyn’s side as cries of relief and joy built into a cacophony outside.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“No, but I think I will be.” She settled back into her pillows with a deep groan. “Then again, maybe not. Did it work, at least?”

“We got everyone out safely, but Haven is lost. Morale’s been low since then, though I suspect news of your awakening will greatly improve things before the day is out.” He shot a glare over his shoulder at the heads and buzzing whispers of people wanting to glimpse their Herald. She was an injured woman, not some object to be gawked at. He pushed them from his mind, grateful that Cassandra was shooing them away as he said, “But none of that matters. You only need to focus on recovering.”

“Recovering sounds nice.” Kaitlyn smiled. She settled down with a soft sigh. She stared at him, her cheeks darkening. “Despite what happened to Haven, I’m glad that you—that so many made it out.”

Cullen’s fingers brushed along her hand. “As am I.”

Kaitlyn flushed and glanced away.

“You stayed behind,” Cullen said. “You could’ve—I will not allow this to happen to you again. You have my word.”

Her smile grew when their eyes met again. “Be careful what you promise, Commander.”

He returned the expression with a grin, beaming until his cheeks ached. “Rest now.”

“Mmm, rest.” She closed her eyes, words trailing off into a murmur about strange dreams of qunari in a burning city.

He tucked the blankets around her, his heart brimming over with every prayer of thanks he knew. Alive. Kaitlyn was _alive_. He let out a shuddering breath, welcoming the deep weariness that overtook him. Slipping his coin into his pocket once again, he left the tent, letting each step he took carry him further and further into exhaustion until he staggered into an emptier section of the camp, not even bothering to remove his armor before collapsing onto one of the bedrolls.

Cullen smiled as sleep tugged at his eyes, unable to remember the last time he’d felt such a dizzying high. No headache. No tremor in his fingers. Relief and hope took the place of guilt and despair as he sank down into the blankets, knowing that tomorrow the Inquisition would rise again, as Kaitlyn had, to stand against the darkness.


	12. One Game Can't Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is plagued by nightmares as Kaitlyn continues her recovery. A game of chess helps them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: canon-typical violence. Death. Mild gore. If you want to skip it, go to the first page break.

Screams echoed through the halls of Kinloch Hold.

Cullen grabbed a mage when he tried to sprint by, bringing the man close to his face. Terror stared back at him from within the mage’s brown eyes. Several inches shorter and a good decade older, the mage quivered in Cullen’s grip. Blood had been splattered across his cheeks; his hands were scuffed and bruised.

“What happened?” Cullen asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“It’s Uldred. He’s— _they’ve_ gone insane. They’re killing everyone! Everyone! They’re insane!” He wrested himself from Cullen’s grip and continued down the hall at a sprint as more mages spilled out of their rooms.

Shifting his shield from his back onto his left arm, Cullen drew his sword and plunged into the oncoming fray. He shouted directions to places with wards meant to protect those inside, doing what he could to mitigate the growing madness as men and women screamed and scrambled and panicked in a mad pattern he couldn’t comprehend. He paused when he came across a group of children being herded about by Wynne.

“What’s happened?” he asked.

“Uldred’s taken over the tower. He tried to convince us to support Loghain but when we refused, he attacked Irving along with a group of blood mages.”

“Blood magic?!”

Wynne nodded, gathering the children closer to her. “It seems that he was so good at weeding them out because he was the one teaching them all. Cullen, he—” She leaned in, her pale eyes suddenly intense. “He tried to bind a demon and failed.”

His grip on the hilt of his sword tightened as ice pooled through his veins. An Abomination. A real one. Not just pretend or practice. He tried to swallow back the fear mounting in his chest.

“I’ll take care of these little ones,” Wynne said. “You need to gather what templars are still here and confront him before he kills us all.” Her hand came to rest on his shoulder and he felt warmth working its way back into his frozen frame. “Good luck,” she whispered before scuttling on, ushering the children forward together like a mother hen.

Cullen turned to the rest of the hall. Some mages cowered behind bookcases, their hands sparking with what little magic they could summon, others—barely more than children themselves—remained locked in place. “Keep going!” he told them, pressing a few of them onwards with light shoves and harder shouts. “Don’t look back no matter what you hear!”

“Cullen!”

“Sam!” Cullen rushed forward as a fellow templar came stumbling around the corner. Blood dripped between the plates of his armor, staining the stone he crumpled onto. His breathing was harsh and ragged, coming out in short puffs that flecked the floor with fine droplets of blood. Cullen knelt at his side, his hands hovering above the fallen man as his mind raced with a haphazard mess of protocols and rules.

Sam gripped Cullen’s arm, fingers tightening enough to make Cullen’s bones ache. “Killing everyone,” he gasped. “I-if they won’t join. Killing. Gone mad. Wants blood. Heading to the prisons. Killing…”

Cullen screamed Sam’s name when his head fell back, eyes distant. He shook the man as the screaming in the room continued to rise. Closing the man’s eyes, Cullen set him gently on the floor. The prisons. Uldred had been killing the mages locked away in the prisons.

_Maker, no!_

“Move!” Cullen roared as he surged to his feet. He barreled forward, the fleeing mages parting before his sword. He didn’t pause, didn’t flinch, didn’t doubt as he plunged downwards. Abominations and mages gone mad clawed and scraped and screamed for him. He cut his way through the monsters, telling the mages where they could retreat to safety until reinforcements arrived. His sword flashed when he swung it, his own screams deafening in his ears as he forced a path to the lowest floor.

The place reeked of death.

It was a bitter scent that clawed its way down his throat, leaving the acrid taste of bile in its wake. The stench overwhelmed him, sending his head spiraling as his eyes swept over the dozen or so corpses in the rooms: templars there to guard their charges, novices who were bringing food down to the prisoners—steam was still rising off a bowl of stew on the floor—and… and…

“ _No_.” Cullen didn’t even realize his knees had buckled until he found himself sprawled across the bricks, his sword and shield abandoned at his sides. His legs refused to carry him so he crawled. Using his arms to drag himself forward, more tempted than ever to retch, he pulled himself up to one of the bodies.

Scarlet stained pale blue robes. The woman’s lips were parted in a scream, brown eyes vacant, skin impossibly pale.

“Please no,” Cullen whimpered as he pulled her into his lap. He felt for a pulse, leaned his cheek over her parted her lips in hopes of feeling her breath. Nothing.

“Please, Miya. _Please_.” He tucked her in his arms, burying his face into her neck. Even in death, her hair carried the scent of her violet bath oils—a gift sent from her cousin, she’d once told him. “Please, Miya. Please don’t be dead. Please. Please, please, _please_.” He cradled her to him, rocking back and forth as the warmth slowly leeched from her body.

“Well, well,” a woman’s voice came from over his shoulder. The sound crackled and shifted as though several people were speaking at once. “ _This_ one’s going to be fun.”

 

* * *

 

“Miya!” Cullen fought against his restraints. He growled and clawed in the darkness before bolting upright. He blinked against the black, blankets coiled around his waist. He panted hard as reality settled onto his shoulders. Kirkwall. Meredith. Inquisition. Commander. _Kaitlyn_.

He ran his hands over his face and groaned. It’d been months since he’d dreamt of Miya, months since his thoughts had drifted to their time together in Kinloch Hold. With shaking fingers, Cullen disentangled himself from the mess of blankets while Leliana and Cassandra’s voices leaked through the thin tent.

“—cannot refuse to accept the offer,” Leliana said.

“Agreed,” Cassandra said. “But we need to find a place that is more defendable. A single pack of bears could wreak havoc with how thinly spread our guards are.”

“Solas has approached me about a fortress to the north of here that should be available for use. I’ve sent several scouts ahead to ensure it’s unoccupied before we move the bulk of our forces.”

Cullen rubbed his face again, trying to drive the sleep that lingered from his eyes as he stepped out into the dim lighting of pre-dawn. He scooped up a small handful of snow and pressed it to the back of his neck, welcoming the shock of cold.

“What are you two talking about?” he asked.

“Trevelyan,” Leliana said. “Josephine and I thought she would be perfect for our Inquisitor.”

“Inquisitor?” Cullen frowned, reaching the table where they’d been studying maps. “Have you even asked her if she’d be willing to take up the post?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Leliana asked.

He blinked then glared at the pair of them. “Perhaps it’s because she was only at the conclave as a representative for the First Enchanter of her former Circle and not there to prepare for more warfare like the rest of us. Or because she was never given a choice when we first compelled her to assist us. Or because she all but died a few days ago and you already want to put her into a position which will attract yet _more_ danger to her. Or maybe it’s because she’s already risked and lost enough for a cause she never asked to be a part of!”

He was shouting by the end, his hands clenched at his sides. He had _chosen_ to join. Josephine had _chosen_ to join. Kaitlyn had been a prisoner who’d had her life threatened, who’d been coerced into fighting. She’d excelled at her missions, excelled under the constant pressure put upon her. But this had never been her burden to bear.

“Commander,” Leliana said slowly, a smile tugging at her lips. “I had no idea that you felt so… _passionately_ about the subject.”

“I—” Cullen flushed when the pair of them exchanged a furtive glance. “You should at least _ask_ Kait—the Herald if she’s willing to accept the position before planning on it.”

“Then we’ll leave that task to you,” Cassandra said. “There’s also this matter which needs her attention—assuming that she accepts the task, of course.” She slid a stack of papers across the table towards him. “Feel free to add your own proposal, if you wish.”

Cullen pursed his lips as he flipped through the information. Some noble who valued an unobstructed view of his lands over helping refugees. He rolled his eyes at the nonsense of it all before tucking the papers underneath his arm. “Very well.”

Josephine cleared her throat as she approached. She smiled at Cullen, but the gesture was laced with worry. He should’ve checked his reflection before leaving the tent. After a night like that, he was sure to have deep bags under his eyes and sweat-plastered hair.  

“The healers say that Lady Trevelyan is recovering quickly.” Josephine’s eyes rested on Cullen for a moment, her words lingering over him before she turned to the others. “We should be able to move in a day or two if the scouts report favorably on Skyhold.”

“So soon?” Cullen asked. “Surely she needs more time to rest than just another day.” The bruises that her covered Kaitlyn’s skin made _him_ ache. She had likely suffered several broken bones and dislocated joints. Even if she were to be carried, the journey would only make her condition that much worse.

“Perhaps you should try to convince her to rest,” Josephine said.

“Yes,” Leliana agreed. “I believe the Herald’s awake now. Perhaps you should speak to her, Commander. Express your concerns in person.”

“I—” Cullen stuttered for a moment, his cheeks warming as all three women stared at him. “I will,” he muttered before taking his leave. He wished he had nicer clothes to wear: his mantle was burnt around the edges and his armor had become a series of scratches and dents.

“Hey there, Curlaaaaaay.” Varric’s yawn stretched out the word. He grumbled to himself, shoulders rolling in an obvious effort not to drop down on the ground and fall asleep right there at Cullen’s feet. Instead, Varric started trudging past, muttering over his shoulder, “Don’t wear Sweets out too much.”

Cullen glared at the retreating dwarf when he started to chuckle.

“Herald?” he asked, poking his head inside the flaps.

Kaitlyn smiled, giving him a little wave to step inside. He did, then stopped. _The Tale of the Champion_ rested on the table beside her, a bookmark nearly at the end of the story.

“I heard Varric reading to you.” His voice was lower than he’d meant it to be. He clenched his hands, tempted to look away before she could accuse him with her eyes.

“Can’t remember hardly any of it. I know there was a big deal about some Qunari.” There was laughter in her voice. “Something about running in circles and red lyrium and flying vases and a nice night for an evening and a… a… Is _that_ why Varric calls you ‘Curly’?”

“What?”

She gestured towards his hair, wincing slightly as she did so. “Your hair. I mean, there’s just so much of it.”

“It’s hardly—”

“It looks like it’s alive,” Kaitlyn continued, still grinning. “If I poked it, I’d half-expect it to move.”

“It’s not nearly that—”

“How much product do you have to use every morning to make it smooth like it is?”

“Not much. I just use—This is hardly something we need to be talking about!”

She laughed and settled further down into her bed. With a soft, contented sigh, her eyes closed for a brief moment. “All right then, Commander. What can I do for you?”

Cullen glanced between her and the book before taking a seat beside the bed. “There’s another mission that Leliana and Josephine wanted you to look over.”

“Already? Goodness, I didn’t expect to still be popular by this point.”

He smiled at her easy tone, his body releasing the tension his nightmares had brought as he settled down at her side. Maker, but her smile was beautiful. It was natural and warm and unburdened—something that shouldn’t have been possible with the pain buried behind her eyes. He wanted to know what a smile like that would feel like against his lips.

Cullen cleared his throat, focusing on the papers as he told her about the situation, concentrating on the individual words so he wouldn’t be distracted by the soft curve of her left shoulder and the way it was exposed between bandages, so he wouldn’t notice the way said bandages pressed her breasts together in the most delightful of ways, so he wouldn’t think about how warm and smooth her skin appeared and how much he desired to massage the ache from her muscles first-hand.

“And what would _you_ suggest?”

“What?” Cullen asked, caught off guard by Kaitlyn’s voice.

“What do you think we should do about the nobleman?”

“The noble’s family is a small one,” he said dismissively. As if that made a difference. Any ‘nobleman’ who sat around in their estate all day was nothing more than an over-stuffed nug. “I say that we help the refugees and let them stay where they are. We’re supposed to be helping those in actual need of help. It’s the idea the Inquisition was founded on.

“Furthermore, we might be small, but look at all that we’ve managed to accomplish so far: we closed the Breach, we saved the mages from the Tevinter Imperium and even have templars wanting to join us. And then, you faced off against that dragon, standing along against the Elder One and… and I’m giving you a lecture again, aren’t I.” He laughed at himself, cheeks warming as he pressed his fingertips to his forehead, wanting to hide his face.

“That’s all right.” Her hand brushed his arm and he looked at her. “I… I like how passionate you are about all of this. Remember?”

He flushed again, thinking over the first time they’d talked at the war table. It was hard to believe how much time had passed since then. “I remember.”

Kaitlyn’s fingers slid down the length of his arm. Their hands met and she squeezed his fingers before tucking her hand into her lap, a faint blush on her cheeks.

“I agree with you,” she said. “About the nobleman, I mean. We should help the refugees first. We’re refugees ourselves, after all.”

“About that.” Cullen set the papers aside, wanting to buy himself a few extra seconds. “Have you been told who Leliana and the others want for Inquisitor?”

“Cassandra?” she guessed.

“You.”

Kaitlyn started to laugh, to roll her eyes. She stopped when he kept his expression deadpan.

“You’re—” She let out a half-hearted chuckle. “You’re serious? Wait, you’re _actually_ serious?” She started to sit up, let out a mild cry of pain, then crumbled back onto the bed. “ _Inquisitor_ Trevelyan? And here I thought being called the Herald was bad enough.”

“Don’t care for titles?” he asked, smiling, wanting to ease the tension from the lines forming in her face.

“Titles are fine. It’s the people they belong to who I generally don’t care for.” She let out a deep breath. “Do I have a choice?”

“Of course you do. As long as you have that mark, we’ll need your help to close the rifts, but I don’t believe anyone would force you to be Inquisitor against your will. But it _does_ make a certain kind of sense.”

Kaitlyn arched a brow at him. “It does?”

“You were the one who’s inspired, recruited, and led us to where we are now. We would be nowhere, we would be nothing, if you hadn’t been here to hold us all together.”

“You mean if _this_ —” She raised her left hand. The green shone through the bandages when she wriggled her fingers. “Hadn’t been here.”

“No,” he said. “I mean _you_.”

Kaitlyn inspected her hand as her face darkened another shade.

Cullen floundered for a moment as the silence stretched out between them. He opened his mouth then snapped it shut only to repeat the process. He needed to come up with something clever, something to distract the pair of them from their current conversation, something that would hide the stifling awkwardness pressing down on his chest.

“Do you play chess?” he asked instead.

“… Sorry?”

“Chess?” His voice was practically a squeak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “We’d agreed to, uh, spend some time talking before… well, before everything fell apart at Haven. And this isn’t the _best_ place to practice archery so perhaps we could play a game instead? I have a board, if you’re interested.”

Kaitlyn blinked a few times, staring at him as though he’d suddenly thrown on a dress and danced the remigold. Then she laughed and broke out into the widest grin he’d ever seen.

“I feel like I should warn you, Commander; I was the best player in my Circle.” She puffed out her chest as much as her bandages would allow, her smug expression only somewhat successful.

Cullen put on a shocked expression. “Well then, Herald. Fair’s fair. It just so happens that _I_ have always been the top player in the Circles I served in as well. And I’ve yet to lose a single game to anyone in the Inquisition either, even when they try to cheat.”

“Then there’s no choice about it, Commander. Let’s put this record of yours to the test.”

 

* * *

 

“White or black, Commander?” Kaitlyn asked once when he’d set up his board. She smirked over the pieces at him. Several of the healers had stuffed some extra pillows to let her sit up—after setting her up with a fresh set of poultices, of course. Which hadn’t been embarrassing at all with Cullen sitting with his back to her.

Several of the pieces were scorched around the edges and a portion of the board had been burned so only the outline of the spaces could be seen. It was another reminder of what they’d lost and what they’d managed to save.

“I think it’s only fair that the injured party gets to choose,” he said.

“This?” She scoffed and glanced down to the stained and worn strips of cloth holding her injuries together. “This is a handicap. It wouldn’t be a level playing field if I didn’t wince and suffer each and every time I moved.” She smirked, wanting to make it obvious that she was teasing him. She relaxed when he smiled, her chest tightening at the simple expression. She glanced down to the board, shifting it around until she declared herself for white.

He moved a pawn and she reciprocated.

“So,” she said, “how long have you been playing?”

“Since I was a child. My sister, Mia, used to make the rest of us play with her. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won which was _all_ the time. Branson—my brother—and I used to practice for weeks in secret whenever we got the chance; the _look_ on her face the day I finally won—” His laughter was rich and full as he moved his second piece, a mage. “That moment was worth the frustration of all the losses that had come before. Between serving the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven’t seen them in years… I wonder if she still plays.”

Kaitlyn paused at the intense nostalgia in his voice. “Are they terribly far away?”

“They moved to South Reach after our parents—after the Blight moved through Honnleath.” He cleared his throat, a touch of pain flitting across his face before it smoothed over in a mask of control. “What of your family?”

“Don’t have one,” she said automatically, her mind focused on the game as she picked up the knight she intended to move.

“Don’t…? Josephine said you had two brothers.”

“Two brothers?” She blinked, her piece hovering over an empty square. “I… I suppose I do. I’ve never met them, though.”

“Never?” he asked.

She shook her head as she set the knight down a little harder than she’d meant to. “I was sent off to the Circle the day they were born. I don’t suppose, I mean, did Josephine ever…? Never mind.”

“What?”

“Do you think she knows what their names are?” Kaitlyn’s cheeks burned under the shock in his face, the surprise that bordered on accusation. “It’s not important. Forget I asked.”

“You don’t know their—”

“It’s not important,” she said again, voice rising in pitch. She nudged the board closer to him. It’d been foolish to ask. She should’ve kept her mouth shut, kept her curiosity to herself until she had a chance to ask Josephine directly.

Cullen fell silent for a moment, studying the board before making his next move—another step forward with a pawn. “She does know their names,” he said after a while. “She told me them earlier—before we met back at Haven. I can’t remember them now, but I’m certain she could help you find out whatever you wanted.”

Kaitlyn watched him beneath her lashes. His face held no pity. Understanding, yes, sympathy even, but not pity.

“Perhaps,” she whispered. She sent her tower forward and claimed one of his pawns. He shifted his mage a single space forward. Licking her lips, she asked, “So there’s Branson and Mia. Any other siblings?”

“My younger sister, Rosalie.” Cullen smiled again. His fingers twirled the tower he held in an absent, haphazard manner. “Maker’s breath, she must’ve been seven the last time I saw her.”

“And now?”

“She’d be twenty-four next month,” he said, his words a mixture of pride and regret. “I doubt I’d recognize her if I saw her walk by.”

“You should have them visit some time. When we’re situated in something better than a mess of tents tearing apart at the seams, of course.”

“… Perhaps you’re right.”

Kaitlyn smiled when he did. The expression was nice on him. She liked the way his eyes softened, how the smile consumed the entirety of his face when he looked at her, how he seemed to lean forward a little bit more each time he moved a piece.

Returning to the game, she took up a tower, intent on claiming a knight he’d left undefended, and paused. The piece was open—no traps or tricks for retaliation that she could see. Claiming the knight would place her far ahead in the game, not only by weakening his forces, but setting her deep into his territory where she could easily claim other pieces.

Kaitlyn glanced up to him, down to the board, then back to his face. There was a subtle mirth in his expression. He wasn’t an utterly horrendous liar, but he was no Leliana when it came to deception. The cheeky templar bastard was _letting_ her win.

She scoffed at the notion. Flipping her tactics, she scanned the board and all but slammed her tower down into the absolute worst place possible. Two of his pawns _and_ a mage could claim it without fear of reprisal.

_Take that, Commander. I’d like to see you try and do worse._

Kaitlyn sat back on her mountain of pillows, arms crossing over her chest—which was really more like resting them in her lap. She wanted to show him up, but wasn’t about to reopen any wounds to do it.

“Your move, Commander.”

“So I see,” he murmured. His fingers hovered across the board, before he took his queen and set her into Kaitlyn’s territory.

She arched a brow at him, mentally asking, _Is this where we’re going now? Not even trying to hide it anymore?_

Cullen merely grinned in response. “I do believe it’s your move again, _Inquisitor_.”

“How magnanimous of you.” Taking her own queen, Kaitlyn placed it in front of several of his pawns.

He almost managed to suppress his smirk as he diverted to his second mage, sending the piece to a spot where it was hopelessly surrounded on all sides. She answered by adjusting her right tower. He shifted a pawn, and so did she. Another pawn forward. Her knight shoved in a corner. His mage surrounded by her pawns. A pawn again. And again. She retreated her queen when he tried to force her hand. He smiled and took one of her pawns. Mage forward. Knight back. Tower into a sea of pawns. King to the side.

He tried to box her pieces in, forcing her to take the advantage. She retreated instead, regrouping her mages and knights as they continued to play the most ridiculous match of chess that had ever been seen in Thedas. After what was likely an hour, Cullen let out a deep groan and raked a hand through his hair as he nudged one of his pawns forward to claim her king.

“And this one’s mine,” he said, his glare playful as he chuckled.

“It seems luck favored you today, Commander.”

“Yes. Luck. That’s exactly what it was.”

Kaitlyn laughed. She leaned forward, elbow resting on the board. When he did the same, her cheeks began to warm. He was close, bordering on intimate. She could see the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, the faint marks and scars that had worn his face over the last decade of his service. His eyes were amber in the light—warm and inviting, taunting her into taking a closer look.

“I had fun today,” she whispered, hardly daring to speak at all with him so near. “The distraction was nice.”

“We should do it again some time.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too.”

She smiled.

He smiled back.

They stayed like that for a minute, neither of them moving or speaking. Finally, Cullen’s eyes flicked to the book beside her.

“I, uh, I should let you get some more rest.”

“Right,” she said, ignoring the slight pang of disappointment that shot through her. She helped him set away the pieces, his hands carefully avoiding her own before he stood beside her bed.

“I’ll check in on you later,” he promised before moving to leave.

“Commander!”

“Yes?”

“I…” She flushed when she realized she had nothing to say. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, Herald.” He gave her a slight bow, his posture stiffer than before, his eyes once again falling to the book beside her.

And then, he was gone.


	13. Not Close Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party travels to Skyhold where Kaitlyn accepts her new role as Inquisitor.

Cullen glared into his bowl of gruel. Solas and Fiona had forbidden any visitors to Kaitlyn’s tent. It had sent whispers scattering throughout the camp, theories and murmurs about how she’d been crippled or had died in the night. Nonsense. All of it. The strange magic that surrounded her mark could be felt outside the healers’ tent if someone stood still enough. But fear was often stronger than common sense.

“You’re looking even more dour than usual, Curly.” Varric plopped down on a log across from where Cullen sat.

“I said that exact thing to him earlier,” Rylen said on Cullen’s other side. “You’re likely to drive away all the new recruits we’re getting with a grimace like that.”

“We’re getting _reports_ of volunteers,” Cullen said. “That’s hardly the same thing. I doubt anyone would be eager to join us if they could see where we are now.”

Varric scooped up a huge spoonful of his porridge and said, “That’ll change once we get to Chuckles’ place,” before stuffing it into his mouth. His smirk hardened into a scowl when he swallowed. “Are _all_ Fereldens born without a sense of taste?”

“Aye,” Rylen said even as Cullen protested. Rylen nudged Cullen in the shoulder and Cullen couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Not _all_ of us,” Cullen insisted. “My father was a wonderful cook.”

“It’s a pity he didn’t teach you, then,” Varric said.

“Yes.” Cullen thought of Branson pressing the only coin he had into Cullen’s palm, his father holding Rosalie while she cried, Mia and his mother wearing matching grim expressions, the templars in armor polished to shine. “Yes, it is.”

Cullen cleared his throat and downed the rest of the bowl, barely noticing the odd mix of burnt broth and undercooked oats. With Leliana’s birds, news of Kaitlyn’s deeds were already spreading throughout Thedas. Supplies had started arriving soon after by those who’d pledged their support, but food was still being tightly rationed. The visiting nobles and Chantry sisters among them had been less than pleased.

“So…” Varric said after abandoning his breakfast to the fire. “Curly, at Haven, you said that the templar leader was Samson.”

“I did.”

“Samson Samson?” Rylen asked. “ _Raleigh_ Samson? Are ye sure about that?”

“As sure as I can be without having a face-to-face,” Cullen said. “Though why he would serve under that monster is beyond me.”

“Maybe it was the Venatori or some other shit,” Varric said. “You know, with that blood magic and mind persuasion crap that they have.”

“Doubtful,” Rylen said. “Any templar worth their salt would be able to block something like that, and Samson was one of the best in Kirkwall. It can’t be him. I heard the horror stories straight from Barris—the templars were butchering anyone who wouldn’t join, forcing their own to turn into those _things_ —Samson would never be involved with something like that. Or with trying to enslave Fiona and the other mages. It can’t be him.”

Varric shook his head. “He could’ve been forced into a corner. He did some pretty desperate things in Lowtown.”

“For lyrium,” Cullen said. “Which is why he signed back into the Order the moment Hawke vouched for him.”

“She'll regret that once she hears about this,” Varric muttered, eyes growing dark.

Cullen nodded vaguely, staring into the fire. He remembered how Samson had come running to the Gallows, revealing everything of the blood mages’ plot and his former involvement with them. Cullen had thought Samson’s change in stance convenient at the time: an easy excuse to ensure his survival. The more time that passed since Kirkwall’s upheaval, the less Cullen believed that. The world was not so easily divided into black and white.

“Commander?”

Cullen blinked, starting forward. “Yes?”

Between Rylen and Varric stood a man in mage robes. He was tall with dark hair, his blue eyes seeming to stare through Cullen with their blank expression. The sunburst brand on his forehead made the other two men turn away. Cullen rose slowly, feeling awkward and out of place around the Tranquil—as though he were back in the Honnleath Chantry, mustering the courage to speak to the templars for the first time.

“Can I help you?” Cullen asked.

“The Herald has requested your presence. She wants to discuss—”  

Cullen didn’t wait to hear the rest. Ignoring the faint snickering behind him, he surged through the tents, muttering apologies to those he bumped into along the way. Had she finally read the Varric’s book? Or maybe she wanted his advice on another assignment? Another chess match?

_Maker, let it be another chess match._

He stopped short of the tent, taking a brief moment to check himself over. No obvious food stains or splotches. Hair under control. Matching boots. His mantle was singed beyond recognition, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

Cullen stepped inside.

Kaitlyn sat propped up on her cot with Dorian and Felix standing beside her.

“—shouldn’t dedicate so many resources to fix _one_ problem,” Felix was saying.

Dorian scoffed. “That ‘one problem’ affects thousands of people. You need to look at the larger picture.”

“I am looking, Dorian, and all it shows me is that you’re biased.”

“Of course, I’m biased,” Dorian said. “How couldn’t I be when you’re the one who—” He stopped and glanced over his shoulder towards Cullen. His cheeks darkened a shade, but the blush vanished almost as quickly as it’d appeared. “We’ll discuss this matter later, Kaitlyn.”

“All right,” she said.

Cullen shuffled to the side to let the two men pass. Felix glared at Cullen as he limped by, his right foot dragging slightly behind him. His sickness wasn’t far along, but the signs of Blight still showed around the edges of his eyes and the way he hunched over when his mind wasn’t occupied with remaining upright.

Dorian waited a moment, then turned to Cullen. “I do hope you’ll forgive him. He’s still angry at you for threatening to kill his father in front of him.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “I… yes. Completely understandable.” He waited until Dorian had cleared before stepping closer to Kaitlyn’s bedside. “You wanted to see me?”

“Did you really threaten to kill Gereon?”

“… Yes.”

“Why?”

“He wasn’t—” Cullen groaned. “He needed an incentive to cooperate and time was running out. I wouldn’t _actually_ have killed him.”

“Why not?”

He frowned. “Because it’s not my place to decide such a thing. I’m in charge of tactics—of the army—but I have no authority over the Inquisition as a whole or its prisoners.”

“And if the new Inquisitor stripped you of your rank?”

Cullen’s eyes shifted to the table at her side where _Tale of the Champion_ rested so innocently. He licked his lips when his mouth went dry. “I would step down. Is… is that why you asked to see me?”

“What?” Her eyes widened in genuine surprise. “No. _Maker_ , no. I was just asking out of curiosity. And I don’t blame you for losing your temper with Gereon. I wanted to strangle him myself after I saw…” She glanced away with a slight shake of the head. “That doesn’t matter. No, I asked you and the others here to talk about the position of Inquisitor.”

“The others?” Cullen asked.

“Leliana and Josephine.”

 _Ah_. So she’d asked for her advisers and not him specifically. He wanted to laugh almost as badly as he wanted to hit his head against something solid.

“Of course,” he said, trying to cover up his blunder. “… How are you feeling today?”

“A lot less dead, thanks to you. I plan to head for Skyhold before nightfall.”

“You need to rest first.”

“We need to get to Skyhold first,” she said. “Corypheus escaped, and who knows how much of his army still remains. We know what his other plans are and we need to act before it’s too late. We can’t do that while we’re living in tents.”

“Even so, it would be better for the bulk of the party to travel ahead while you recover.”

Kaitlyn looked down at her hands. “Solas believes that I should lead the camp, and I think he’s right. I’ve, um… I’ve decided to—”

“Herald?” Leliana called before poking her head inside. She glanced to Cullen as she walked inside, paying him little mind. “Was there something you wanted?”

“Josephine?” Kaitlyn asked.

“I’m here,” came her muffled voice before she stepped inside. “Is something wrong? Are you unwell?”

“I’m fine. I just…” Kaitlyn’s fingers twisted together in her lap. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the position we’re in and what’s at stake, and I’ve decided to accept your offer. I’ll become your Inquisitor. If you still want me, that is.”

“What?” Cullen asked even as the two women started buzzing about everything they needed to prepare and the letters they needed to send. He stepped around them. “I don’t understand; you seemed so against it before. Why do such a thing?”

Her hands tightened, a slight tremble in her fingers. “I have my reasons. Now will you help me up?”

Cullen pursed his lips, but extended his arm all the same. Her hand was heavy on his elbow, fingers growing tight as she relied on him to pull herself up. Her legs shook, back bent, breath strained.

“You should be resting,” he said, soft enough just for her, trying to ignore the list Josephine was making about all the things they needed to get for the Winter Palace—he’d find a way to get out of it—as she and Leliana left the tent.

“I should be learning how to walk without a limp,” she shot back, straightening herself out bit by bit. “There. See? That wasn’t _completely_ excruciating. I’ll be fine.”

“Mm.”

Cullen stayed close at her side, his arm at the ready in case she wavered. Outside, people were bustling about as instructions were shouted to take down the tents and gather everything into the few carts they had. He watched her as she hobbled through the camp, greeting those who stopped her, masking her pain behind smiles that were too broad and laughter that was too loud.

Thedas was not going to be kind to a mage Inquisitor. Even in the camp—among the people who’d seen Kaitlyn’s work firsthand, who’d watched her throw herself against the enemy so the others could live—there were flashes of sneers and murmurs of _spellbind_ and _where’s her templar?_ that raised his hackles. Kaitlyn ignored them with a practiced grace that made him wonder how often she’d heard the comments before. Too often.

He walked with her, both admiring and hating how she stubbornly refused to rest or slow down. In the distance, looming above the mountains, the sky rippled with faint green light—a ‘scar’ that remained after the Kaitlyn’s closing of the Breach. Cullen’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword as he watched it. A deep weight settled down upon his shoulders and he knew that things had only just started to go wrong.

 

* * *

 

To say that Skyhold was in ruins was to say the mark on her hand was a scratch. The battlements had been obliterated in several places, both from natural wear and from war. Grass spread out between the cracks in the courtyard as vines crept up the walls. Within the main keep itself, half of the rooms had been filled with ancient debris or sagging wood in desperate need of replacement. Roofs leaked. Several species of bird were nesting within the inn. Other parts of the ancient building were utterly inaccessible. Even so, the walls were strong and defendable.

Kaitlyn limped up the staircase that led to the main hall, leaning heavily on Cassandra’s offered arm. They moved slow—each step its own aching challenge. The illusion that she’d somehow managed to heal over their two days of travel was an important one to maintain for the people gathering in the courtyard below. The Herald of Andraste, now official leader of the Inquisition, had to be _more_.

 _Keep your back straight, my dear,_ Vivienne’s voice rang in her head. Kaitlyn stifled a groan as she tried to make her movements appear as natural as possible.

When she’d accepted the role of Inquisitor earlier in front of the advisers, Cullen had stared at her as though she’d declared that everyone should return to the old ways of worshiping Dumat. _Why do such a thing?_

Kaitlyn faltered on the final step, her hand flying up to her side. Pain shot throughout her body like lightning and her breath came in sharp pants. The world grew unsteady. Cassandra’s hands tightened on her arm.

“Can you make it?” Cassandra asked under her breath.

“Give me a moment.”

_Why do such a thing?_

Kaitlyn ground her teeth together as she forced her body to move forward and accept the sword Leliana offered. A whimper escaped her as she took the full weight of the weapon. A second, lower whimper followed as Cassandra moved away. Hefting the sword and testing her grip, she looked down at Cullen, barely able to make out the words he said as he roused the gathering crowd of soldiers and recruits alike. She inspected the length of the blade, noting the worn edges time had given it.

_Why do such a thing?_

She hadn’t answered him, too unsure about how he might respond. A mage seeking power was always treated with suspicion. But it had to be done. She needed to show Thedas that mages did not have to be feared. She needed to follow in the footsteps of the Warden and the Champion, mages who saved others and did what they could to help those around them. _Fear_ had always been the greatest threat to mages.

Stopping Corypheus was important too, of course.

Kaitlyn shifted her grip, waiting for Cullen to finish before thrusting the sword into the air. She gave of a shriek of pain but deepened it instantly in the hopes that the others would take it as a war cry. Sweat dripped down the back of her neck. A faint buzzing grew in her ears. Cassandra’s voice was distant as firm hands took the sword and guided her up towards the main hall of the keep. Kaitlyn’s arm felt oddly light without the weapon.

“I think that went rather well,” Leliana said as Cassandra helped Kaitlyn into a chair.

Cullen stopped in front of her, his hand coming to brush against hers. “You did very well, Inquisitor.”

She glanced up to see him smiling. The bags under his eyes resembled bruises, but despite the weariness in his expression, there was a sense of relief in the way the corners of his mouth lifted up.

“Thank you,” she managed before easing down with a sighed groan. “I’m glad Solas knew about this place, but I don’t think it’ll hold an army.”

“We’ve already started gathering our forces in the valley below,” Josephine said. Her voice carried on but the words didn’t register as Kaitlyn’s side continued to ache and throb. She tried to relax and nod in all the right places as the facts about their forces and connections piled up. Winter Palace. Adamant. Wardens. Corypheus. Yes, yes. I’ll get it done. I’m fine. Yes, I’m listening. Dark future. Samson. Corypheus. Red lyrium. Yes, I’ll remember.

Kaitlyn blinked when it was suddenly Varric who was staring at her.

“You finally here with me, Sweets?”

“I—” She sat up straighter in her chair and looked around. “Where are the others?”

“Gone. You’ve been in a daze for quite a while now. I wager you wouldn’t have noticed if Andraste herself had danced naked through the room.”

She shot him a mild glare and he chuckled. “Is there something I can help you with, Varric?”

“It’s what _I_ can do that I came to discuss. There’s, uh, there’s someone that I’ve contacted—someone who can help us with Corypheus.”

“Oh?”

He stared at her, eyebrows raised as though he expected her to already know the answer. “You weren’t listening at all when I read _The Tale of the Champion,_ were you?”

“Um… well, it all got sort of fuzzy after the ogre and the dragon lady.” She flushed when he pursed his lips. “I’ve already restarted reading it from the beginning; Hawke’s helping Fenris chase after Danarius right now.”

“You have a ways to go then. It’s just as well. They won’t be here for a few more days.” He turned as if to leave, paused, then looked at her. “Sweets. There’s, uh—” He shook his head and brought a hand up to his furrowing brow. “There’s going to be some stuff in that book that’s, well—things were so different back in Kirkwall. It’s hard to describe if you’ve never been there for yourself. A sort of weight; a constant nagging at the back of your neck and—”

Kaitlyn placed a hand on his shoulder and he fell silent. “I consider you a friend, Varric. Whatever I read won’t change that.”

He gave her a wry smile. “It’s not _me_ I’m thinking about, Sweets.” He shook his head again before patting her hand. “You’ll see soon enough, I suppose.”

Kaitlyn started to ask what he meant but he was already walking away, muttering something about a promise over his shoulder. She tried to follow but her ribs allowed her a mere three steps before locking her in place. She wheezed and half-staggered-half-fell towards the door. Pushing magic into her right hand, she pressed it up against her side, shuddering as her own magic flooded through her body. She was panting by the time she pulled her hand away.

Five or six steps forward and her knees shook. She looked down at the sheer drop down into the courtyard a few inches from her toes. She wobbled as she did so, her head going light.

“Inquisitor!”

She recognized Cullen’s voice long before his arm wrapped around her and pulled her away. He all but carried her back inside the hall, his arms steady around her. She leaned against his mantle, grateful that he was taking most of her weight.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured as he continued to escort-carry her into the kitchens. “Head hasn’t stopped spinning since this morning. Not very Inquisitor-y of me, is it.”

With no chairs to sit in, Cullen set her down on a cleared section of the counter. She almost pouted when he stepped away, missing the warmth of the mantle. Skyhold was oddly warm for its location, but whatever magic resided in the stones of this place couldn’t drive away the chill completely.

“It’s because you’re pushing yourself too hard.” He fetched a glass of water and watched as she drank it before pressing a second into her hands. Their fingers brushed together and he lingered there a moment. She was less than a hand’s width shorter than him on her feet but being on the counter made them level. Cullen stepped closer. His scruff was thicker than usual, edging into a beard. His eyes had darkened to a deep gold, unable to stay focused on one spot as they kept shifting down towards her lips. She licked them automatically. He took another step.

Maker, but his hand was warm. Her skin prickled under the touch and her chest tightened when he settled mere inches from her. He smelled of elderflower and oakmoss and hot metal.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he said.

Kaitlyn flushed at how his deepened voice sent a shiver up her spine, at how his fingers continued to rest softly on her skin. “I could say the same thing about you, Commander. But there’s no need to worry about me. I’ll be all right.”

He smiled at that. “I’ll _always_ worry about you.”

She looked away and pressed the glass to her lips, hoping to hide her grin. She cleared her throat when the cup was drained, certain her cheeks were as scarlet as the fur of his mantle.

“I understand that Leliana’s prepared a room for you downstairs near the library while the workers finish restoring the western wing. Your things should already be there.” His hand fell away but he stayed close enough that she could see the faintest trace of freckles across his nose. “I _highly_ recommend you shirk all responsibilities until after you’ve had some sleep.”

“How scandalous!” She gave an exaggerated gasp. “My war adviser telling me to do _nothing_?”

Cullen rolled his eyes and took the empty glass from her hands. “Recovering from your injuries is hardly doing nothing.” He filled it with water again and placed it down at her side. “Please promise me that you’ll at least try to take it easy this time.”

“… I promise.”

He smiled and her stomach fluttered pleasantly.

“There’s, uh—” He broke away suddenly, retreating a few paces. “There _is_ something that I need to discuss with you once you’re feeling better. Now that you’re officially the Inquisitor, there are a few things that you need to know. About me.”

“Is it bad?” She slid off the counter, barely able to keep herself from following him as he continued to move away.

“It’s nothing of great importance, but I think you should be aware of… certain things.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I simply—” He let out a breath and shook his head. “It would be best to save this discussion until you’re well again, I think. I’m located in the tower above the portcullis if you need me. Until then, Inquisitor.” He gave a stiff bow and before she could call him back, he walked out of the door.

Kaitlyn stood there, blinking at where he’d been standing only seconds before. “All right then,” she muttered to herself. She rifled through the cupboards, taking a mere half of the cookies she’d found. Using her shirt to carry the haphazard bundle, she tiptoed her way through the great hall, her head down and hair brushed over her face to remain as invisible as possible. She only had to stop twice to catch her breath as she made her way downstairs. It took a few wrong guesses, and walking in a set of flustered half-naked women, until she found the room intended for her. _Tale of the Champion_ was already set on the small table beside the bed.

When the door shut with a muffled clank and the latch slid over, she stopped to rest her forehead against the wood. Her room. Her own room. No windows for people to peep inside. A lock under her control. She laughed when her eyes began to prick. She had almost believed that she’d never get to experience such a luxury. What did people even do when they had a room all their own? Strip down? Dance naked? Sing horrendously off-key? All three at the same time?

She laughed at the mental image of the various members of the Inquisition doing just that.

Carefully crawling into the bed, she pulled the blankets up around her until she was curled up in a cocoon of quilts. With the cookies in her lap and a lantern burning steadily beside her, she opened Varric’s book and began to read.


	14. Truth is not a Pleasant Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaitlyn goes to confront Cullen about his actions in Kirkwall when her anger is interrupted.

Kaitlyn gripped her book as the color drained from her knuckles. Frost spread across the ornate cover until the _Tale of the Champion_ was little more than a brick of ice. Anger seeped into her bones and burned through her veins until her entire being ached to scream and tear.

_Mages cannot be treated like people. They are not like you and me. They are weapons._

_Templars have dominance over mages by divine right._

_Mages cannot be our friends. They must always be watched._

_I’ll always worry about you._

Of course the bastard would worry. After all, she might turn into a monster at any given moment and he’d have to be there to protect the innocent nobility from the evil mage. With a growl, she let go of the book, not wanting to do any more damage to Varric’s gift.

“The nerve of him!” She got on her feet, the ache in her side barely making her twinge as she stormed about the room, the lantern flickering whenever she passed. “We have to get the templars! We have to get the templars! Urgh! And to think that he—that _I_ —” She let out another scream of frustration.

_Mage. **Monster**. You deserve to be locked up. You deserve to be punished for what you are. _

She slammed her hand against the latch of the door. The metal let out a low groan before it shattered under her touch, falling to the ground in frozen chunks. She took a deep breath, trying to control the rage as it spread through her, consuming her from the inside.

This man who hated mages, who had watched them be tormented but had done nothing, who believed that they were not even human, who ‘understood’ the desire to make all mages Tranquil— _this man_ was supposed to be her Commander? Someone she was supposed to trust and rely on?

Kaitlyn ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Night had settled in while she’d read, leaving only a handful of guards in her path. None approached her.

“Varric!”

The dwarf started in his chair where he’d been writing. His fingers were blotted with black ink and he had spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. He took them off as she grew closer and tucked them away in one of his pockets.

“I take it you’ve finished the book?”

Kaitlyn pounded a fist onto the table—harder than she’d intended—and the wood cracked down the center. She sighed, stowing her apology to Josephine away for later. Varric settled down into his chair, his face devoid of his emotion, eyes studying her warily when she turned on him.

“I did finish it,” she snarled through her teeth. She forced herself back a step. Her anger was not at him. Nor was the sense of loss that was creeping along behind it. Cullen had almost… she couldn’t believe she’d fallen for his ploy. The trustworthy templar who believed in protecting mages. She should’ve known better. “And I need to know _exactly_ what happened in Kirkwall with the Commander.”

“Why?”

She frowned at how calm he remained, as though she had asked whether or not it would rain tomorrow. “Because if I’m going to _discuss_ —” She emphasized the word mostly for herself. It would do no good if the Inquisitor killed her Commander on the same day that she’d been placed into power. “—things with him, then I should know the truth first.”

“And whose truth do you want?” Varric tilted his head to the side, expression unchanged. “If you’re asking if he really said those things, then yes, he said them. He said a lot more than that too—some worse, some a lot better. But you need to understand that I first met Curly years ago. _Years._ He said those things, yes, but he’s not that same person anymore.”

“You’re actually defending him?”

He reached out to touch her arm but withdrew it when she pulled away. “You said that you wanted to know the truth. That’s the truth. But it’s _him_ that you need to be asking.”

Kaitlyn scoffed and headed to the rotunda. She grumbled under her breath when Varric shouted _You’re welcome!_ over her shoulder.

“ _Not the same person_ , ha!” She clenched and unclenched her hands, barely even noting Solas where he slept.

Mages are not people. They are weapons. Mages cannot be our friends.

Grief mixed in with the rage as she marched across the battlements to his tower. She’d been such a fool. Kaitlyn clutched at her chest as the ache grew stronger. She’d been so desperate for a friend, for something familiar that she’d let herself get close to someone who wouldn’t even bat an eye if she were to be made Tranquil—made _manageable_. Maker’s breath, he’d probably _prefer_ her that way. Unable to say no to the advisers decisions, falling in line behind them, focused entirely on Corypheus.

Kaitlyn raised her hand, settled to knock on Cullen’s door in place of outright demolishing it as she wanted to. Her fist stopped short of its destination as a long, low moan echoed from within the tower.

Waves of embarrassment crashed over on her, overwhelming her anger. She paused, wondering if it had been a trick of the ear, or perhaps a creak from one of the other doors. With her ears pricked up, she waited. Another, louder, moan followed that trailed off into a faint whimper.

She glanced around, unsure of what to do. Bursting in and demanding to speak to Cullen while he was in the middle of someone, all sweaty and scrunch-faced, was not how she wanted the evening to go. A note, then? But what would she write? _I found out you’re a bastard. Report to me – Your Inquisitor._ Yes. And that wouldn’t circulate so everyone knew about it. That would only earn her pitiful glances and raised eyebrows.

Kaitlyn groaned and ran her hand over her face instead. She turned to leave. The tips of her ears turned red when yet another cry came from Cullen.

“ _Please_ —”

She flushed and shook her head as though that would block out her ears.

“ _Please stop!_ ”

She paused mid-step then eased backwards and pressed her ear to the door. Just to check up on him, of course. She wasn’t peeping. Or spying. Not at all.

“Please,” Cullen’s voice choked on the word. “Please don’t. Stop. P-please. Stop. I know you’re not—you’re not her. No!”

Kaitlyn’s fingers went to the latch. She hesitated. Her anger urged her to walk away, to let him suffer through the nightmare alone. He deserved far more for what he’d done.

“Damnit,” she muttered before pushing the door open. “Cullen? Are you there?”

“Please,” he begged. “Please end this. Just end it, _please_. I can’t— _I can’t._ ”

The room was cluttered with broken planks and a set of crates. A ladder to her left led up to a loft above where a breeze was coming in through a demolished roof. She crawled up the ladder as fast as she could, her aches clinging to her bones as she winced her way up to him.

His blankets were thrown across the floor, the sheets beneath him soaked through with sweat. He shifted and muttered, his head tossing from side to side as he whimpered and pleaded. He wore only a loose pair of trousers that barely held to his hips; his hair had reclaimed their curls.

Her jaw fell.

A set of five scars, thick and gnarled, had been clawed into his chest above his heart. His right side bore a patch of pink and twisted skin where he’d been burned years before. The hair on his body that trailed down to the edge of his trousers was interrupted by a network of scars he bore from years of being a templar.

Mages had done this to him.

Kaitlyn pursed her lips, refusing to let sympathy enter the moment. She came forward and pressed a hand to his forehead. His skin burned beneath her fingers. One of his hands shot up to wrap around her wrist but he did not wake. The hold was as weak as his voice, feverish and desperate.

“Please stop.”

“Cullen?" She used her other hand to shake him.

He didn’t stir.

“Cullen!” She pried his hand from her when he continued to tremble, and gathered the washbasin and pitcher nearby. Pouring out the water into the washbasin, she placed her hand on the surface and let her magic flow through the water. With no rags or spare cloths in the small room, she took one of his blankets and ripped off a corner. She paused, then tore a few more strips . A subtle sense of satisfaction curved her lips into a smile as she dropped the destroyed blanket back onto the floor; it was enough to quell her anger for now.

“Don’t think this changes matters, templar,” she muttered as she sat down on the edge of his bed. “We’re still going to talk about Kirkwall later.” Soaking a cloth, she wrung it out and pressed it to his forehead before easing a touch of healing magic through the strip so that it simmered on the surface of his skin. “You have to get well again. And that _is_ a direct order.”

Cullen’s body began to calm to the occasional jerk of his arm or leg. His cries for help quieted to strangled whimpers. She stayed there, placing another chilled strip across his chest, another down his stomach, the fourth and fifth loosely tied around his wrists.

“You have to get well,” she mumbled again as her head began to droop forward. She moved closer, smoothing back his dampened curls. Tilting his neck up, she slipped water into his mouth bit by bit, making sure that he swallowed each time before resting his head in her lap. Another change of cloths. Her eyes itched with the desire to sleep. Another change. She yawned. Grey came in through the hole in the ceiling. More sips of water. “You have to… get well… so I can… yell… at you…”

 

* * *

 

Cullen’s eyes felt like sandy cotton balls when he blinked them open. The light filtering into the room made him groan. He raised a hand to block it out and blinked when a wet cloth slid off his wrist and smacked him across the face.

“What in the Maker’s name?” He pulled it off with an irritated growl and stopped short. Kaitlyn was rested back against the headboard in a position that must’ve been excruciatingly uncomfortable. Her full lips were parted. Her chest rose and fell in time with her slow breathing. He flushed as he realized that his head rested in her lap. A mere turn of his neck and their position would become an intimate one.

He froze in place, hardly daring to breathe as his eyes roamed around the room. He remembered feeling ill the night before. Miya in Kinloch Hold. The demon who stole her face as it whispered lies into his ear. A shudder ran through him that he couldn’t suppress.

Kaitlyn stirred. A hand came up to rub her face.

Cullen clamped his eyes shut, arms darting down to his sides as he thought invisible, sleepy thoughts.

She peeled the cloth from his forehead and felt the skin with her hand. His heart skipped then clenched when her fingers shifted down to his neck, her every touch gentle. _Maker_ , but she had soft hands. Soft and blessedly cool. He let his mind drift for a moment, imagining her fingers wrapping around his neck for a different reason. Her nails scraping through his scalp. Her breath on his lips. The warm brush of her tongue against his own. The light sigh of his name when he kissed her.

She was so close to him now. It would be a simple thing to reach out and touch her face. She’d stayed with him, after all. She’d seen him in his broken state and had stayed the night, nursing him. Maybe… maybe if he brought her close and cupped her cheek as he wanted, he’d find that she desired the intimacy as much as he did.

Cullen cracked an eye open when she lifted his head out of her lap and shuffled to the edge of his bed. He stayed there, debating, when a sharp shriek was followed by a heavy thud.

“Kaitlyn!” He was up in an instant, his limbs cracking as he stumbled to his feet.

Her head whipped back to him. Her eyes widened, gaining an edge of panic as the seconds ticked by. A deep flush crept over her face before she turned and started crawling towards the ladder on her elbows.

He stepped towards her. “K—Inquisitor, wait.”

“Don’t touch me!” she screamed.

Cullen’s jaw shut with a snap. He stood there, every fiber of his being telling him to go to her side. He didn’t understand. Not five minutes past, she’d been holding him, caring for him. Why reject him now?

“I…” He started, the words sticking to his tongue. “Please let me help you.”

“I don’t _want_ your help.” She sat up and beat her hands against her shins. “My legs are asleep. Nothing more.” Her blush burned down her neck.

“Surely, there must be something I can—”

“No.” The sharp edge in her voice was enough to send him back a pace. “I already said I didn’t. At least…”

“Yes?” he pressed. His feelings of uselessness increased with each passing moment.

“Later tonight, or maybe tomorrow, I… you said that you had something you needed to tell me. There’s something that I need to discuss as well, about your position here.”

He faltered at that. Had he not done what she wanted? Perhaps this was over their losses in Haven. The workers had no right to engage in battle. He should’ve done more to stop them. Before, when she’d asked if he would step down—perhaps she’d changed her mind on keeping him around. Cullen cleared his throat and said, “I see.”

“Good.” She nodded once and turned away. “I’ll see you later then, Commander.”

Cullen remained standing there long after Kaitlyn had climbed down and left. A deep sense of defeat settled over him as he made his way towards his bed. He had lost something in that moment with her. There’d been no smile in her voice, no warmth or curiosity in her eyes. His dream of holding her, of _kissing_ her faded as he pulled on a fresh shirt and splashed his face with water. He stared at his rippling reflection and wondered what she saw when she looked at him now. A templar? A broken man? A soldier too tied to his blade? He shook his head and continued to dress, praying that when she heard how he’d stopped taking lyrium, it didn’t make matters worse.


	15. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaitlyn confronts Cullen about his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: rape mention.

“You’ve been promoted to Knight-Commander?”

Delrin’s chin raised slightly and his back straightened as though Cullen had called him to attention. “Just this morning. The Inquisitor did it herself with Rylen and Lysette bearing witness.”

“I… wasn’t aware. I hope you’ll pardon my lack of attendance.”

Delrin shook his head, pride leaking out of every pore. “I didn’t know of it myself until it happened. The Inquisitor told me to discuss a few matters with you before fully taking over the position.”

“Of course,” Cullen said, trying to focus his attention on the reports and charts he’d read over that morning and _not_ the way Kaitlyn had looked at him before running out of the room, or the way her face been so close to his own that her hair practically tickled his forehead, or the way she’d stayed with him through the night, nursing him through his night terrors.

“Commander?”

“Yes?” Cullen blinked. “Forgive me, I—my mind was wandering elsewhere. You were saying?”

“I’m to lead the templars and whatever Inquisition soldiers you can spare to find  survivors of Therinfal Redoubt.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll have a list of those best equipped for facing the red templars to you before the day is out. I'm sure Rylen will want to help.” Cullen returned to the papers on his desk. He’d made it through several paragraphs when Delrin cleared his throat.

“There’s more?” Cullen asked.

“We’ve received several shipments of phylacteries from Ferelden, Orlais, and the Free Marches.”

“What of them?”

“The Inquisitor said I should defer to you on what becomes of them.”

Cullen frowned and settled back into his seat. His thumb drummed against his desk, thinking more of why Kaitlyn would say such a thing than what to do with the phylacteries themselves.

“Commander?” Delrin prompted.

“Store them somewhere safe, somewhere out of sight. If they are to be guarded, have a templar, seeker, and mage guarding them together—that should cut down on any chance of abuse.”

“I’ll see that it’s done.” Delrin dismissed himself with a nod, a grin plastered on his face even when he winced at every other step.

Cullen watched him for a moment, his chin in his hand as he stared after the man. It had been over eight hours since Kaitlyn had left his office. He’d dismissed her absence at first. She needed to rest after that long night, have some time to herself. But why hadn’t she told him about Barris? Or the phylacteries? Why hadn’t she come to see him yet? Had she forgotten?

He let out a low growl of frustration before snatching up his quill and all but smashing it through his desk as he scratched out a report for Master Dennet about the mounts they’d acquired. Busy work. That’s all he had to do. An endless, mindless stream of paper that did nothing to alleviate his thoughts of the Inquisitor.

Maker, but she’d looked so upset that morning. Hurt. Betrayed in a way he feared he could not fix.

Cullen shook his head and dove into the paperwork. He grunted when his soldiers passed through on their rounds across the battlements, ignored the nagging hunger building in his stomach, shut everything else out until the shadows cast by the setting sun reminded him to find candles before he lost himself to darkness. His chair scraped against the stone when he stood.

“Commander?”

He jumped back, hand going to his sword. He’d unsheathed the weapon several inches before his mind caught up to the situation. Kaitlyn stood in the western door. The dying sun illuminated her in scarlet, setting her brown hair on fire and turning her into a creature of myth. Her lips were pressed into a thin line while her eyes settled on the hilt of his blade where his hand was still wrapped around it.

“Forgive me, Inquisitor!” His hands jerked up, hovering awkwardly in the air for a moment before they settled down at his sides. “I didn’t hear you approach.”

“I was just about to knock.” She took a single stop forward. The corners of her jaw flexed when she clenched her teeth. “You told me that you had something to discuss.”

“I—yes, I did. Several things, actually.” He offered a smile and his chair. She refused them both. He faltered, busying himself with lighting a set of candles to buy a moment to think. It felt petty to ask why he wasn’t informed about Delrin’s promotion. He pushed the matter from his mind and turned back to her. She stood rod-straight, arms crossed behind her back in military fashion, chin up, eyes blank of emotion. Kaitlyn Trevelyan did not stand before him; this woman was the Inquisitor.

“As leader of the Inquisition, you—there’s something I must tell you. Something about me.”

Another flex of her jaw, but no reaction otherwise.

Cullen pulled out one of his desk drawers, withdrawing the lyrium kit inside. He ran his fingers over the carving of Andraste. Cassandra had told him to throw it out, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to let go. This had been a vital part of his life for over fifteen years. He’d stopped taking the lyrium but to throw it away? His hands tightened on the box, the lyrium inside singing sweetly to him of relief and power, before he opened the lid to show her.

“As you know, lyrium grants templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off from it _suffer_.”

“Cut off?”

His lips twisted in a wry smile. It didn’t surprise him that she was ignorant of the practice. To tell the mages that a templar had been punished showed weakness within their ranks. Supposedly, anyway.

“Yes. If a templar is not… obedient as they should be, their dose may be reduced or refused altogether. They may even be thrown out of the Order as Samson was. I’ve seen men go mad over it. Others die. You and Leliana have done well in securing a reliable source for the mages and templar here, but _I_ —” He released a breath, the confession sticking to his throat. “I no longer take it.”

Kaitlyn’s body relaxed a fraction. Her eyes swept over him, understanding softening her face. “This is what all your headaches have been about. And last night too. How long have you been off it?”

“Since I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now.”

“But why?” She stepped forward, head shaking. “Why would you risk death like that?”

“After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t—I will not be bound to the Order or that life any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it.” Andraste knew he deserved it. He’d been so blinded by his anger, by his belief in the templar’s ideals, that he’d shut out the cries of the suffering. “Even so, I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I’ve Cassandra to… watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.”

“I don’t understand,” she murmured, more to herself than him.  “Why would you— _why?_ ”

She rushed forward and he retreated until the backs of his legs bumped against his desk. She didn’t stop until she was close enough for him to smell the traces of her soap mixing with the scent of fresh-baked bread and old books. Her cheeks were flushed as she stared at him, face drawn in with anger.

“I don’t understand you, Cullen Rutherford. One moment, you’re kind and gentle—picking up a mage child after they fall. The next, I see your suggestions for the war table which are rarely anything than sheer brute force. I know that you told the other templars that they are no longer part of the Order, but you yourself continue to wear their symbol on your bracers.”

He blinked and looked to his forearms. He’d left his templar armor behind, walking away from Kirkwall with nothing but his training clothes, a small pouch of coins, his lyrium kit, and his brother’s coin. When the Inquisition had offered the armor, he’d accepted without question. “It’s not what you think. I needed armor that fit me and I took what was available. Nothing more.”

“A likely story.”

“It’s true,” he insisted. “Everything I’m wearing, even that lion helm over there—we were stretched for resources and it would’ve been foolish to have the armorers make me a personal set when there were so many other things to be done.”

“And now?”

“Now?”

She scoffed, backing away from him. “We may not be drowning in sovereigns, but we can afford to commission a suit of armor for our _military_ commander.”

Cullen opened his mouth to protest but couldn’t find the words. “If you feel that’s an appropriate use of resources, I would not object.”

“How generous of you.”

“Kaitlyn, I—”

“I’m not finished yet.”

He bit his tongue.

“You say that the Order is broken and has mistreated its tenant, you distance yourself from them by making certain that everyone knows you're an _ex_ -templar, you admit regret for your actions,  and yet you _constantly_ defend those under its banner. And that doesn’t even cover what you said—what you said—!”

“What I said?” Cullen asked, voice gentle. Her hands began to tremble, fists clenched tight. Flakes of ice squeezed out between her fingers.

“ _Kirkwall_ ,” she spat. “I finished _Tale of the Champion_. ‘Mages cannot be treated like people. They are weapons.’ Or how about ‘Mages cannot be our friends. They must always be watched.’” Her voice continued to rise but Cullen kept his face tightly under control even as his chest felt ready to cave inwardly and crush his heart. “And then there’s my personal favorite: ‘ _Templars have dominance over mages by divine right_.’”

He swallowed hard, forcing a steady calm as he asked, “Your point?”

“My point?” Her bark of laughter was bitter, choked. “So you’re not even going to deny it?”

Cullen bit his tongue. It would be so easy to lie, to spin the story. _Those weren’t my exact words._ He could ease the truth for her, for them both; it would be such a simple thing. Varric often exaggerated for a good story. She would believe him.

“I did say that,” he admitted instead. He shifted one of his hands behind his back to hide the way his fingers shook.  

“You did,” she repeated with an absent nod of her head. The anger seemed to simmer out of her as she withdrew towards the door. Her arms shifted to wrap defensively around herself. “And did you mean them?”

He ground his teeth together. His own words repulsed him. “… I did.”

Kaitlyn retreated another step. Tears were in her voice if not her eyes. “And do you still believe that?”

“No!” He moved towards her, wanting to explain, wanting her to understand. She backed into the wall, arms up and palms pulsing with magic. He stopped cold. Agony ripped into his chest. “I would _never_ hurt you, Kaitlyn. I would never hurt _any_ of the mages here.”

“If you say so, Commander. But I’ll ask you to address me by my title for now.”

“I—” He let out a low breath and watched as she continued to draw back inside herself, masking the pain and smoothing out her face with layers of indifference. “I understand, Inquisitor.”

Kaitlyn waited another moment before relaxing her body. “There are other things I want to know about Kirkwall. About what happened.”

Cullen closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath as he returned to his desk, shoulders stooped and head down. “I will answer any question you put to me, Inquisitor.”

“Why did you become a templar, Cullen?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Your family were farmers in Honnleath. How did you go from that to being a templar?”

He leaned against his desk, half-sitting on it as a deep weariness settled onto him. “I wanted to protect people. I believed that’s what the templars did.”

“Protect people from mages, you mean.”

“Perhaps in part,” he admitted. “But mages need protecting too. When I was young, I saw the templars and I thought… I thought I would be helping people, protecting the innocent. The valiant knight in the old stories and all of that.”

Cullen smiled tentatively but her face remained passive and cold. Only the subtle rise and fall of her chest betrayed that she continued to breathe.

“If that’s true,” she said, “then why did you support Ser Alrik’s Tranquil Solution?”

“I did no such thing!”

“Yes, you did.” Her voice dropped, each word stabbing him in accusation. “You did nothing to stop him. You knew what he wanted to do. There was proof that he was making women Tranquil to… to make them _pliable_ , and you did nothing. Choosing to do nothing is the same as supporting what’s happening around you.”  

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it? Haven’t you expressed your own frustrations at the people who stand by and do nothing while we fight for their lives? Haven’t you berated and grumbled at nobles who weren’t willing to stand with us when we broke from the Chantry? Choosing to do nothing is still a choice and you damn well know it. Stop playing the ignorant hypocrite, Commander. It doesn’t suit you.”

Cullen ground his teeth and took a step towards her. “It’s not the same. Everyone can see the Breach no matter where they are. There were hundreds of witnesses to Corypheus’ attack. It is a _fact_ that the world is in danger, and no one is capable of denying that. Ser Alrik was different. Yes, there was a higher rate of Tranquil than there should’ve been. But you weren’t there! You didn’t see how many abominations leaked through our fingers. I saw children torn to pieces by their own mothers, siblings turning on one another because mages were out of control. Yes!” he shouted when she opened her mouth, his own anger mounting. “Yes, I should’ve done something. I know that, Inquisitor. For years, I’ve known that and I hate myself with every passing day for how I let myself be played by Meredith and my own rage. But I _never_ supported Alrik. I believed the whispers of his actions to be nothing more than rumors.”

“Rumors?! How could you—”

“Because every templar has rumors following them! For Andraste’s sake, for _years_ after I left Kinloch Hold, there were rumors that I’d—that I’d raped and murdered three young mages. It wasn’t true. Not a word of it! But even now, over a decade later, there are still those who believe that about me. So yes, Inquisitor, I believed the accusations against Ser Alrik to be rumors. I believed Meredith had nothing but the best intentions for a city already primed to tear itself apart. I believed that I was in the right, that _templars_ were in the right. And I was wrong. I was wrong, Kaitlyn.”

“ _Inquisitor_ ,” she reminded him, the reprimand half-hearted.

“Inquisitor,” he corrected himself. “I was wrong. The man that I became… the man that I was—he sickens me. But yes, I did say those things. I failed to help those in need. And as much as I would like to, I can never take them back.” He sighed and brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Any other questions, Inquisitor?”

“Kinloch Hold?”

He stiffened.

“It was mentioned in the book. Uldred. Miya. You were talking about them in your sleep, too.”

Irritation tugged at his fingertips and crawled up his limbs until it was firmly wrapped around his spine. Kirkwall was open for the world to see, but Kinloch Hold was his alone. Cullen tried to hold back but a subtle growl leaked into his words. “That’s not a question.”

“I heard about a Ferelden circle that almost fell years ago. The Warden Surana found it full of blood mages and corpses. But all the templars inside had been slaughtered.”

“Not all of them.” He struggled to keep his voice even. Would he never be free of that place? “ _One_ templar was kept alive for… entertainment.” He glared at her, all but daring her to say that he deserved it, to say that he’d earned the torture for what he’d done—she wouldn’t have been the first. Instead, her face softened with a sympathy that nudged her towards him until they were only a few feet apart.

“I saw the scars,” she said, eyes falling to his chest for a brief moment. “But I didn’t know that _you_ were… I’m sorry, Cullen.”

“As am I.”

She offered a tiny ghost of a smile and he mirrored the expression. Her hands raised slightly before falling down again and he couldn’t shake the impression that, had they not been arguing moments before, she would’ve embraced him.

“Is that all, Inquisitor?”

Kaitlyn waited a moment before nodding. “Yes. For now, at least. You’ve given me a lot to consider.” She turned towards the door.

“Ser Barris was placed in charge of the templars.”

She paused with her hand on the latch and glanced over her shoulder to him. “That’s correct.”

“May I ask why?”

“You command the Inquisition’s armies.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Cullen huffed a sharp breath through his nose. “Inquisitor!” he called when she turned again. “There’s one more matter.” He picked up one of the reports on his desk and brought it to her.

“What is it?”

“You wanted to know about your brothers. You’ve been so busy that I asked Josephine for the information she had on them earlier this morning. Their names are Anthony and Marcus and, apparently, they’d like to meet you.”

Kaitlyn’s eyes widened as she snatched the paper from him. Her lips moved silently in the form of their names and she smiled. She looked at him, smile still in place, her eyes bright with hope. His heart ached at the sight of it because he knew she wasn't likely to ever look at him like that again.

“I—” she started, “I don’t know—you didn’t have to… thank you.” She rolled it up carefully and held it close against her chest. Her smile tempered off and she bit her bottom lip as though to contain the expression for herself. “Commander—”

“Yes?” He took a half-step towards her.

“I, uh, I’ve been thinking about what happened in Haven and I’d like to be trained in combat. More than just archery, but swords and hand-to-hand as well. All of that.”

Cullen frowned, hoping to mask his disappointment. “If you wish to, of course you can learn. But you handled yourself better than anyone could’ve expected. Cassandra’s been quite impressed with how quickly your skills have developed.”

“It’s not enough.” She shook her head and leaned against the doorframe. “And I didn’t handle myself well at all. Looking back at it, I’m certain that if Corypheus hadn’t wanted to confront me personally, I never would’ve lived long enough to have met him.”

She was probably right. And the realization of it made him ill.

Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “Since you know all the military types here, I’d appreciate it if you could pick out some specialists for me to train with once I’ve fully healed.”

He stifled the urge to nominate himself for the task. He _had_ promised to teach her archery, after all. “I’ll see that it’s done.”

“Good.” She straightened and gave him a noncommittal nod that was hardly more than a shrug. “Farewell, Commander.”

Cullen watched as she walked away before shutting the door. The hinges creaked and whined and he grumbled along with them, dragging his feet towards his chair. And now she knew. Most of the truth, if not all of it. He groaned when his head thunked down onto his desk, cursing himself under his breath as he wished the floor would swallow him whole.


	16. Judgment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaitlyn judges Gereon Alexius. Varric talks to Kaitlyn about her fight with Cullen, then she and Cullen settle the aftermath of their argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: implications of sexual and physical abuse

Kaitlyn unrolled the paper Cullen had given her to read it over again. Marcus. Anthony. Her brothers. She couldn’t stop her grin. They wanted to _meet_ her. She pressed the scroll to her chest, a giggle escaping her as she all but skipped across the battlements—it was really more of an exuberant shuffle; she’d had enough healing magic poured into her to resurrect an army, but her body remained stiff and stubborn in its disobedience.

“Inquisitor,” Solas called to her the instant she stepped inside the rotunda. “A moment of your time?”

She tucked the note away in the pockets—wonderful things, pockets; now that she had some, she marveled that more clothes didn’t have them—before turning to him.

“Did you bring what I asked for?”

“Yes,” he said, gesturing to the ocularum on his desk. “But I think the matter bears further discussion.”

“I’ve already decided that it’s best to destroy them.”

“But that would be a terrible waste,” he said. “We have no idea what those shards recovered from the Venatori unlock. The magic within them is of elven design; whatever they reveal could greatly help in the fight against Corypheus.”

“Or it might do nothing. Or it could unleash another threat that we’d have to deal with. Either way, I’ve given the order and I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Is it not better to thoroughly check every possibility?”

“Not when that ‘possibility’ comes at the cost of the Tranquil.” A touch of queasiness made her stomach curl—even now, after reading the letters they’d found, she could barely believe what the Venatori had done.

Solas’ face softened, his voice gentle like he was trying to console a child. “Their lives are already lost, Inquisitor. Using the oculara would make their deaths _mean_ something.”

“No,” she said. “The Tranquil have already suffered too much. I will not make a mockery of this… butchery. I’d rather show others that I will not allow them to get away with such methods. If the Inquisition is to be a stabilizing force in Thedas, if we are to claim that our actions are for the good of all, then we must prove it. That starts now.”

Kaitlyn marched passed him, collecting the ocularum on her way. She held it with care, her thumb absently tracing the spot on the forehead where the scar from the sunburst brand would’ve been.

 _Alexius was quite clear in his orders_ , the letter had read. Find the shards at any cost. Force a demon to possess a Tranquil then kill them within that same second. No wonder the man had wanted any living Tranquil kept out of his sight.

A dozen or so people were gathered in the great hall. Throughout the day, workers and soldiers alike had cleared the room of debris. With the fireplace full of crackling logs, rich velvets draped over the damaged sections of the walls, and tables spread throughout the room, the place only looked vaguely shabby instead of the horrendous disaster it’d been before.

Josephine stood beside the throne—a plush chair with an Inquisition banner draped over it—along with Clemence and Helisma. The others in the room avoided the eyes of the two Tranquil, but Kaitlyn greeted them with a smile.

“Are the two of you certain about this?” she asked. “What I’m asking is a request, not an order.”

“We understand, Inquisitor,” Helisma said in an even tone. “And we will help.”

She thanked them and took her seat, her heart beginning to race. Several noble couples were in attendance, their eyes scrutinizing everything behind their golden and porcelain masks. Fiona and Barris were there as well, the pair of them standing side by side as Kaitlyn had requested. Cassandra stood by the fire, Dorian and Felix in the shadows beyond, and a handful of soldiers and servants spread throughout.  

Holding the skull in both hands, Kaitlyn sat down. “Bring forth Gereon Alexius.”

A door near the end of the hall swung open as several soldiers began dragging the former magister inside. Gereon’s chains clinked as he walked.

“Ferelden has given him to us as an acknowledgment of your aid,” Josephine said. “The formal charges are apostasy, attempted enslavement, and attempted assassination—on your own life, no less. Tevinter has disowned and stripped him of his rank. You may judge him as you see fit.”

“There’s one more charge I’d like to add to that list,” Kaitlyn said, leaning forward in her chair as she stared down at Gereon. “Turning the Tranquil into the Oculara.”

“That was not my doing.”

“Oh?” Kaitlyn rose to her feet. “But it was done by the Venatori, and I thought that _you_ were Venatori. I saw the skulls gathered in Redcliffe as well as the letters there.” She walked down the first set of steps separating her from Gereon, holding the skull so that it would be at his eye-level. “How do you plead to these charges, Alexius? I must admit, I’m not sure what kind of punishment to dole out for a man who nearly destroyed time itself.”

Gereon scoffed. He took a half-step forward before his guards stopped him. “I couldn’t save my son. Do you think _my_ fate matters to me? Do what you will. I don’t care anymore.”

“Nothing?” Kaitlyn asked. “I hold your fate in my hands and you won’t even try to defend yourself?”

“You hold nothing,” he spat. “The people you’ve saved, the acclaim you’ve gathered—you’ll lose it all in the storm to come. The Elder One cannot be stopped. You’re nothing but a child standing in front of a hurricane.”

“… Very well. Cassandra, bring me the brand.”

Kaitlyn glanced to the side when someone ran from the room. Brushing it off, she refocused on Gereon’s face. His eyes had widened, face flush with fear as he began to shake.

“Tranquility?” he asked.

“So you can become an ocularum for the Ventori you hold so dear.” Shifting the skull into one hand, Kaitlyn took the brand from Cassandra when she approached. With a deep breath, she let the moment stretch on as the tensions in the room began to rise. Cassandra stood beside her, hand going to the hilt of her sword.

Kaitlyn raised the brand.

One of the side doors burst open and Cullen came to a skidding halt in the middle of the hall with Rylen right behind. The Commander looked rumpled and shocked. _Fuck_. If he’d just waited twenty more seconds.

“Inquisitor?” he asked. “What are you doing?”

“Silence!” she snapped at him, not daring to make eye contact. “Guards, hold the prisoner still.”

“Please,” Gereon pleaded as the iron neared his forehead. “Kill me instead. Death is better than that. _Please_.”

“I thought you didn’t care.”

“I…” His eyes flicked from the brand to the skull to her face. “Anything but that. _Anything_.”

Kaitlyn stared down at him, keeping the brand a hand’s width away from his head. She snuck a glance to Cullen—his expression was disarming mix of disappointment, confusion, and anger. She returned her attentions to the man before her.

Gereon’s eyes were fixed on the brand now. His breath left him in gasps as he tried to squirm and lean away from the hot metal. Sweat beaded across his forehead. The closer the brand came to his skin, the more he paled. She stopped.

“I want you to remember the fear you feel right now, Gereon Alexius.” She let her magic seep into the metal, freezing the brand so it cooled with a distinct hiss. She tossed it to the side where it shattered: a symbolic gesture, more than anything. It’d been a regular brand, not a lyrium one. “I want you to remember everything about this moment. The fear. The regret. Everything.

“Your fortune and all your assets will be given to the mages you said you would aid. Everything you once owned will now pass to them as reparations for what you’ve done. Your libraries, texts, and notes will be absorbed into the Inquisition where you will continue your work.”

“I—what?”

“If you figured out how to travel through time, others will not be far behind. You will continue your research with Dorian to prevent any further disaster _and_ you will help search for a cure to the Blight sickness with your son.”

“Felix?” Gereon jerked to the side, eyes scanning the hall until they found his boy. “You’re still here? You didn’t leave?”

“Assisting you in this task,” Kaitlyn continued once the guards had made Gereon turn back to her, “are these two Tranquil—Clemence and Helisma. Consider them a reminder of what your beloved Venatori have done, and what may yet be done to you.”

With a gesture for him to be taken away, Kaitlyn returned to the chair, hoping that no one noticed the slight tremble in her legs. She looked to Fiona and Barris, pleased that both of them seemed satisfied with that she’d done. Satisfied enough, at any rate; Fiona had been in favor of outright killing him when Kaitlyn had proposed her plan.

“Am I done now?” she asked Josephine.

“There is actually one more, but it will be better for another time.”

“One more?”

Josephine sighed. “A man attacked us… with a goat. It’s a long story, Inquisitor. One that can wait for later.”

“Later. Yes; later is good.” Kaitlyn thanked her and slid out of the chair, nearly running for the door that led to the eastern wing. It would take weeks before the repairs were done, but in the meantime, it was one of the few places where she might be alone.

“Sweets?”

Then again, maybe not.

“Yes, Varric?” she asked, sitting down on the staircase.

“What just happened—that was…”

“Over the top?” she guessed. “Extreme? Cruel?”

He grinned. “Pretty damn perfect.”

“You think so?” she asked with a weak laugh.

“I do. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Obviously, you’re here to grace me with your glorious chest hair.”

“There’s that,” he said. “I know that it’s hard not to swoon in my humble presence, but we need to talk about Curly.”

Kaitlyn groaned and let her head thunk against the nearby stone wall. “ _Again?_ ”

“Yes, again. There was a pair of scouts gossiping about a fight between the two of you not ten minutes back.”

“That wasn’t a fight; it was… a heated discussion. No one got hurt.”

“Mmhmm.”

“What? It’s true! I didn’t try to freeze off any of his body parts. He didn’t try to make me kneel at his feet. Really, it was all quite civilized.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“What do you want me to say, Varric? Was I supposed to accept the fact that he publicly said mages shouldn’t be treated like real people? That, as a templar, he has a ‘divine right’ to control me? That mages aren’t—”

“Curly is the only reason you’re alive right now.”

She blinked. “… _What?_ ”

“Scouts had searched Haven with no luck in finding you. We sent out search party after search party with nothing to show for it. Cullen was the one who kept pushing everyone to keep looking—to keep hoping. He was the one who found you. Insisted on carrying you back down the mountain himself. Wouldn’t let anyone else touch you besides the healers.”

“I…” She faltered, staring at him. “It was the mark that he wanted. The Inquisition can’t close rifts without it; we may not be able to defeat Corypheus without it.”

“Oh, _come on_.” Varric gave an exasperated laugh. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

She stared down at her lap.

“Kirkwall was years ago. And you know how it ended—he stood up to Meredith in the end. He stood up for the mages because he knew she was going too far. Maybe he should’ve acted sooner, but he did the right thing when it mattered most despite the risks involved. That poor kid has suffered through more trauma and loss than most people will go through in a lifetime. What he did was wrong, but he knows that, Sweets. He _knows_ it.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” she said. “That doesn’t… it doesn’t—!”

Varric hadn't lived in the Circle. Nor had Hawke. Not even Anders had glimpsed the true horror of the Gallows. But several of the mages in the Inquisition had. Kaitlyn bit the inside of her cheek, remembering the terror in their eyes as they’d talked of a sister who’d been made a personal assistant for Alrik after being made Tranquil, a son who’d been stolen away at birth, a lover who’d been accused of blood magic and executed without a trial, beatings in the dark, dungeons that mages never returned from, fear and blame at every turn. All under the watchful eyes of Meredith Stannard and Cullen Rutherford.

“Doesn’t _what_?” Varric asked.

“What if dealing with mages gets to be too much for him one day, and he starts to feel that way again? In the future, Leliana hated mages because of what’d been done to her. What if things still end up that way? What if the Cullen or Leliana or someone else tries to chain me? What if they want to make me Tranquil?”

“Kaitlyn, he won’t—”

“You don’t understand!” She clenched her hands together, tears pricking her eyes. She tried to swallow back her anguish. “My father was the kindest man I’d ever met _until_ my magic manifested. ‘Modest in temper, bold in deed.’ _Ha!_ No templar in the years since has ever treated me with the violence and contempt he did. For Maker’s sake, he tried to… My parents tried to—”

She put a hand to her throat, breath coming in short pants. She felt like she was drowning. Her skin was too tight and a voice in the back of her mind screamed at her to tear it off and disappear, vanish into nothing so she could escape the panic shredding at her from the inside. __Mage. **Monster.** You deserve to be locked up. You deserve to be punished for what you are!__

“I can’t _do_ that again, Varric,” she said through muffled sobs. “I can’t trust someone only for them to turn on me like that. It’ll _break_ me.”

Varric stepped towards her, hand gently taking one of hers. His fingers were rough and calloused and warm. He was always gentle with her, taking his time to sooth her fears.

“Cullen wouldn’t do that,” he said, voice soft as his other hand came around to rub her back. He could barely reach her shoulder. “He’s a good kid. Misguided, sometimes. But he means well, and he cares about you. Fear is a hard thing to fight, I know, but don’t let it poison your friendship with him. If you push him away, it’s not going to do either of you any good.”

“So I’m supposed to accept what he said?” She rested her forehead to Varric's shoulder so he wouldn’t see the tears falling down her face.

“Accept that he said it, and that he regrets it. We all have a past that we’re running away from. The Inquisition is a new start for all of us. You don’t have to trust him if you don’t want to, Sweets. You don’t have to be his friend. You don’t have to love everything he says or does. But you need to accept who he is. He’s not the worst person in the Inquisition. And you must’ve heard some of the things people say about you: their _mage_ Inquisitor.”

“I’ve heard them.” Kaitlyn sighed, relaxing against him as he continued to rub her back in consolation. She closed her eyes. She’d heard things like that most of her life—every mage had. But knowing that _Cullen_ had said those things… it’d hurt. More than words had ever hurt her before.

“All right,” Varric said, pulling away. “Time to get this over with.”

“Get what over with?”

“It’ll be like downing a healing draught.” He walked towards the door. “Just throw it back and try not to taste it.”

“Varric, what’re you talking about?”

Grinning, he opened the door and stuck out his head. “Curly! Sweets wants you!”

“ _What?_ ” she hissed.

“Downing a healing draught,” he repeated before ducking out of the door.

Kaitlyn sputtered for a moment, wondering if she could make it through the debris on the stairs in time to hide. With a curse, she turned away from the door, wiping her face and easing a touch of frost and healing magic to reduce any swelling around her eyes or redness that would betray how she’d been crying.

“I’m going to get you back for this, Tethras!” she muttered to herself a second before the door opened again.

Cullen stepped inside, eyes narrowed in a cautious expression. “You asked for me?”

“I… no.”

“No?”

“It was Varric,” she said. “He wanted us to talk.”

“I see. I’ll leave, then.”

“No!” Kaitlyn half-stood when his hand went to the latch. “No, we should talk. I… I have some things to tell you.”

“Very well.” He kept his back straight as he tucked his arms out of sight. He’d never looked more like a soldier.

“I…” she started. “I am still very upset with you, Commander. But I also recognize that my…” She sighed, unsure of which word to use. “ _Display_ earlier was partially unwarranted. You said you gave up lyrium because of what happened in Kirkwall but I still pressed you on it. Obviously, giving up lyrium isn’t something that you, or any templar, would do lightly. You’ve been fair to the mages so far, and you’ve been kind to me. That should take precedence over anything that you said years ago.”

His arms eased down to his sides as he relaxed a fraction.

“You may have already guessed this,” she said, “but I do not trust easily. I have been watched and scrutinized then shoved aside all of my life; I’ve had people who I thought were friends betray me to earn privileges in the Circle, and I’ve lost friends because… well, because of what I am. When I first met you, I was certain that you would be the same. But you weren’t. You were… I don’t know. You were human. So _reading_ that and finding out that you’d—It… it was just so…!”

“I understand,” he said, relaxing a bit more. “May I sit with you?”

She paused before scooting to one side of the stair. He grunted faintly when he sat down.

“Mage and templar,” he said. “We’ve been on opposite sides for hundreds of years. That’s not an easy thing to overcome.”

“Even so, I should’ve controlled my temper.” She looked at him. “I’ve just never been able to express it without severe consequence before. In the Circle, if you don’t keep a tight lid over your anger, then you gather suspicion and fear and threats. And everything since the Conclave has been a constant stream of madness—I woke up in chains, got _this_ fucking thing for a hand, I killed a person—I’ve _killed_ people—and everything with the mages and Corypheus, _almost dying_.” She slumped over with a low groan, her arms wrapping around the ocularum.

“The stress, the fear, the anger—I lashed out at you.” She stared at her own feet. “That was unjust of me, and unfair to you. I… apologize.”

Cullen was quiet for a time, the moment stretching on to an almost unbearable level before he said, “I don’t blame you for how you reacted, Kaitlyn.” He waited as though to see if she would insist on him using her title. She said nothing.

“I can’t even bring myself to read that book,” he said. “I hate the person who I was back then, so it doesn’t surprise me that you hate him too. I was consumed with anger. For years, that anger blinded me. In Kirkwall, I _would_ have demanded that you be watched constantly. I _would_ have thought that you needed to be controlled.”

“But not anymore?”

“No. Not anymore. I still have… _difficulties_ with mages at times, yes. And I’m not surprised that I’ve given you reason to doubt my standing. I’ll probably give you more reasons to doubt me in the future.”

“Hopefully, not _too_ many,” she teased with a weak smile.

“Not too many,” he agreed.

“Cullen?”

“Yes?”

“You knew I was reading the book. Why didn’t you say anything?”

He brought a hand up to the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to seem biased. Looking back, I should’ve been up front about it. It probably would’ve been better coming from me than someone else.”

“Yes. It would have. Varric tried to warn me, but I didn’t think he could be talking about you.”

“That was kind of him,” Cullen muttered. “Kaitlyn?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you stay with me? You came in to confront me, didn’t you? That night when you found me ill in bed.”

“I…” Warmth rose in her cheeks as she remembered the scars she’d seen. The fear twisting his face. “I was angry at you, not vindictive. Ah—though I may have tore up one of your blankets a little bit.”

He laughed, body shaking from the sound. “I had wondered if that was you.”

“Sorry,” she muttered, only half-meaning it.

“It was an old ratty thing anyway. I probably should’ve turned it into rags ages ago.”

She looked him over, eyes going to the burnt mantle he wore. He really _did_ need a new set of armor. Especially if he was going to—

Her eyes widened at his arms. They were bare, stripped of his bracers. “You took them off?”

“What?” He followed her gaze. “Yes, I did. You were right. I can’t claim to be separated from the Order if I still use their armor and wear their banner. I know it’s just a start, but—”

“Thank you.”

He smiled. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“What?”

“Why did you nurse me? You must’ve been there all night.”

“I told you, I was—”

“You could’ve summoned a healer,” he said. “Or literally anyone else. But you stayed. You helped me, even after finding out the things I’d done. _Why?_ ”

Her fingers twisted in her lap as she bit her lower lip. “I wanted to make sure you were going to be okay. Just because I was angry at you doesn’t mean I wanted you to be alone. I was there. I could help. So I did.”

He nodded absently, eyes drifting down to the ocularum she held. “Cassandra told me that you ordered the destruction of all of those.”

“I did.”

“What do you plan to do with the, er, skulls?”

“Give them a proper burial. For the Tranquil to be reduced to this—nothing more than a literal tool—it makes me sick.”

He shifted closer and frowned. “This is personal for you.”

“Yes,” she said, tracing a circle on the skull’s forehead again. “Most mages treat Tranquil the way most people treat mages—better to be in the background, unseen and unheard as they make life easier for everyone else. People tend to think that the only Tranquil are those who were malicious, but that’s not true.” She glanced to him then back to the skull. “Sometimes, Tranquil are friends who were too scared that they would hurt another person. That’s what Tranquility _should_ be—a last resort taken by choice, not a punishment.”

“So, with Gereon, you would never have made him Tranquil?”

“Never. The brand would’ve hurt like nothing else, but it wouldn’t have cut him off from the Fade. No, I just wanted to scare him a little—make him live through his victims’ eyes for a moment.” She sighed and set the ocularum down on the step between them.

“Thank you again,” she said. “For finding out about my brothers. That was… you didn’t have to do that.”

“It was no trouble.” He got to his feet and turned to face her. “Could we start again?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You know most of my past,” he said. “I know parts of yours. Considering all that’s happened these past few months, I think it would be a good idea for us to start new." He straightened and inclined his head in greeting. "My name is Cullen Rutherford and I was once a templar.”

Kaitlyn stared at him for a moment. “One time, I broke into the Circle’s armory and froze all the templars’ swords together.”

“I—” He blinked. “ _What?_ ”

She smiled. “I was on cleaning duty, and no one knew that I was practicing frost magic. I broke into the armory and used the water  from my bucket to freeze their swords together. They had it melted right away, but it was fun hearing the Knight-Commander’s scream of surprise.”

“… I don’t understand.”

“Something from my past,” she said. “Since I have you at an unfair advantage.”

Cullen’s eyes widened slightly before he smiled. “I used to sing in the choir with the Chantry sisters.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Up until I was eighteen and I was sent to Kinloch Hold.”

“No singing there?”

He laughed. “Only when the Knight-Commander wasn’t listening.”

Kaitlyn smiled as she stood. The cramped spacing of the stairs left them only a few inches apart. “I _am_ sorry, Cullen. I let my anger get the better of me. I'm not saying that you didn't deserve some of it because you did, but… But I should've handled it differently. _I_ should've been different.”

“I can’t fault you for that. You let your anger control you for less than a day. Mine took over for years.”

“All the same,” she said, “I should’ve been better than that.”

“Then shall we start again?” he extended a hand to her. “A new beginning so that we both can do better this time around?”

“My name in Kaitlyn Trevelyan, and I am a mage.” She took his hand. “To a new beginning.”


	17. The Champion of Kirkwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaitlyn deals with the aftermath of her decisions regarding Cullen when Fiona confronts her. Varric's 'Corypheus expert' arrives and plans are made for the Inquisition to travel to Crestwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: descriptions of food

Kaitlyn chewed on the round end of her pen while she stared down at the letter in her hands, not really seeing it. She’d lost interest once she’d seen her father’s name. There were more pressing things to think about—like what to have for dinner. And stopping Corypheus, of course. But mostly dinner. Setting the letter aside, she turned to look at her copy of _Tale of the Champion_. It’d survived her anger well, showing next to no sign that she’d nearly turn it into a chunk of ice. She ran her fingers along the cover, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. She hadn’t read the ending until last night; the horror stories from the mages she’d spoken to had fed on her own anger until she’d been too enraged to read it—too scared to discover what else Cullen may have said. But Varric had been right: he’d stood up to the injustices around him when it’d mattered most.

With a faint groan, she set her head down onto the edge of Josephine’s desk where she’d been working as the ambassador greeted guests and ensured their support. Kaitlyn picked at a scratch in the old wood, desperate to think of anything else she could do besides writing to her father. Josephine insisted on accepting the alliances offered by Trevelyan house and Kaitlyn’s refusal had only increased Josephine’s stubbornness. Letters every day. Treaties ‘accidentally’ left around. Not-so-subtle hints about the benefits and funds of being attached to her family. Her brothers, she would meet. But her father and his fortunes could burn for all she cared.

A low growl from her stomach sealed her decision as she abandoned the letters in search of food. Her hand was on the latch when the door opened, sending Kaitlyn back several paces.

Fiona stepped forward, eyes narrowed, her brown skin darkened with a flush of rage. Even with a near foot of difference between their heights, the raw power of the woman’s presence made Kaitlyn nervous.

“You promised that the phylacteries would be returned to the mages, Inquisitor,” Fiona said.

“I know,” Kaitlyn said after she’d righted herself. “And I apologize, Grand Enchanter, I…” She faltered, unsure of what to say. How could she tell this woman that she’d placed that power with Cullen because she’d wanted to see what he would do? Fiona would think her frivolous—foolish. And she’d probably be right.

“It’s a temporary measure,” Kaitlyn said. “I promise that they’ll be returned to their proper owners in time. For now, they’re guarded by members of each party, including a Seeker so that—”

“A Seeker?” Fiona asked. “A Seeker _and_ a templar to one mage? It was a Seeker who started the war, Inquisitor; are you expecting them to play the diplomat simply because you tell them to?”

“ _What?_ ” Kaitlyn frowned. “No. It—it was Anders in Kirkwall that sparked the rebellions.”

Fiona scoffed, stepping farther into the room. Her hands were tight around the staff she carried—unlike most mages, she’d refused to let it out of her sight for more than a few minutes at a time. “Did Leliana not tell you? Or your First Enchanter? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised—Loyalists often deny the truth in front of their eyes. You know of the gathering of First Enchanters and myself two years ago, yes?”

“I do.”

“And you know what happened?”

Kaitlyn’s frown deepened. Her First Enchanter had been too sick to attend, leaving only speculation and rumors before the bulk of the mages had abandoned Ostwick Circle. “… No, not really. There was supposed to be a vote, but fighting broke out among the mages and templars before anything could be decided.”

“A lie,” Fiona said. “We gathered to vote on whether or not mages should separate from the Chantry, but Lord Seeker Lambert declared the meeting to be treason. He _butchered_ the mages there with help from the Templar Order. _That_ is what caused the war, Inquisitor. We tried to separate peacefully, to be free in a way that would harm no one. In response, they slaughtered and imprisoned us like criminals—like animals. And afterwards, Circles throughout Thedas were annulled for no reason. They murdered children in droves. _One_ mage destroyed _one_ building and they used it as an excuse to kill us all with no care for innocence or justice.

“I understand why you’ve let the templars and their kind to join your cause, Inquisitor. And I agreed to your terms that we are to be partners with the templars—no one above the other. But you said that the mages would work _with_ you, not _for_ you, and those phylacteries are ours by right. If this is not just another Circle, then we should not be tethered or caged.”

“I didn’t intend to make anyone feel that way, and I’m sorry if that’s how it comes across.”

“Then give the phylacteries back to us.”

“I will,” Kaitlyn said. “But give me a little time. Many in Thedas still consider the war to be ongoing, and allowing the phylacteries to be locked away _for a short while_ will help ease people’s minds. Let things change at a pace people can accept. Madame Vivienne is right in that regard: if we push too fast, it will only make them fear us more. _Fear_ is the thing we must fight most to overcome.”

Fiona sighed, shaking her head. “We shouldn’t have to prove anything. Not anymore.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. Truly, I am, but the Inquisition is still susceptible to attack from all sides. We need to better than what everyone expects of us. Like the way you stood with Barris today. Thedas _needs_ to see more of that.”

“I understand,” Fiona said. “I don’t like it, and I _will_ ask for them again, but I understand. There’s another matter I want to discuess.”

“Yes?”

“Your commander.”

“Cullen?”

“You know that he was a templar in Kirkwall before the explosion, do you not?”

Kaitlyn’s hands tightened slightly. “… I’m aware.”

“And do you know that several of the mages here were _in_ that Circle?”

“… Yes.”

“And have you spoken with them?”

“Yes.”

“And?” Fiona asked.

“… They don’t think highly of him,” Kaitlyn said, voice weak, traces of the anger she’d felt at Cullen still ripe within her veins. It was going to take a while before she stopped thinking of the pain and fear she saw within those mages’ eyes whenever she looked at Cullen.

“They relocated down to the base camps in the valley so they wouldn’t have to see him,” Fiona said. “One girl, before we even came to Haven, _begged_ to be sent to an outreach post as a healer so she couldn’t run into him by accident. And this is a man who we’re supposed to trust with our lives?”

“I know all of that.” Kaitlyn straightened to her full height, trying to exude confidence she didn’t feel. “That is _why_ I placed Delrin Barris in charge of the arriving templars and not Cullen—nor Rylen who also served in Kirkwall. No mage raised objections over having Barris in charge and the templars readily pledged their loyalty to him and the Inquisition. It’s not perfect, I know, but the templars need to have a leader—a counterpoint to your position among the mages. As for Rutherford, he commands only the military. I made certain Barris would tell him about the arrangement.”

“There are still others who might serve better,” Fiona said. “I have seen the way the Commander’s hands shake, and I know what it means. And while I understand what he is trying to do, it is one thing for him to leave the Order, it is another for him to disown it. Relinquishing his supply of lyrium may compromise his abilities and cause him to lash out at others—yourself included.”

“He’s told me about that,” Kaitlyn said. “But, for now, I believe that he’s the best person we have for the position. He’s had questionable judgement, yes. He and I have butted heads on more than one occasion, but he is utterly dedicated to the Inquisition. More than that, he knows what he’s doing and his skills as a tactician are currently unmatched within the Inquisition. Cullen is dedicated to building a new life here. As are you, Grand Enchanter. As are all of us. This Inquisition is that chance to begin again. I will not deny that to him while grasping at it with both hands.”

“Very well, Inquisitor,” she said, body stiff with a simmering anger. “But understand that I will do whatever I must to protect the mages under my care.”

“I know. And I won’t betray the trust you’ve placed in us, Grand Enchanter. And neither will Cullen. I swear it.”

Fiona looked her over with a harsh eye before withdrawing back towards the door. She paused. “Tell me, then—does the Commander know how some of the mages feel about him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Kaitlyn licked her lips. “I didn’t feel it was necessary to tell him that.”

“… I see.” Fiona inclined her head. “Very well, Inquisitor. I will accept the Commander and the phylacteries for now. But we will be discussing this again soon.”

“As you wish,” Kaitlyn said, giving a slight bow in return as the other woman left. She staggered to the side one of the door had shut, a slight tremble in her fingers. Never in a thousand years would she have thought that she’d be talking to _the_ Grand Enchanter that way. Her laughter was strangled as she ran a hand down her face, eyes widening with each heavy thud of her heart.

“Shake it off, Kate,” she muttered to herself as she slowly made her way towards the door again. She peeked around the corner before stepping into the main hall. The place was nearly empty save for a handful of workers and Varric writing away near the fireplace. As though sensing her eyes on him, he looked up and grinned.

“Sweets!”

Kaitlyn turned on her heel and started marching towards the kitchens.

“Aw, come on!”

She heard the scraping of wood on stone and the slight thump of shoes hitting the floor. She walked faster.

“You’re not still mad at me, are you?”

For a dwarf, he was surprisingly quick on his feet.

“You and Curly both seem a lot more approachable than you did yesterday.” He quickened his pace, managing to intercept her before she reached the door. Standing in front of the handle, he smirked up at her.

“Do you want a medal?”

“Wouldn’t mind one,” he said. “But I’ll let you think about it first. Wouldn’t want to rush you into choosing the wrong kind—Volcanic Aurum looks _amazing_ against my skin tone, by the way.”

“ _Varric_.”

“Just saying.”

She sighed and leaned against the wall. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“The contact I told you about arrived. D’you remember? The one who _knows about Corypheus_.”

Her body froze in place. “Hawke?” she whispered. “Hawke’s here? Now?”

“Sort of. She’s ac— _stop looking around._ ”

“Sorry!” Kaitlyn flushed, trying to keep her eyes focused on him even as she strained to observe the room in its entirety. “But she’s really here?”

“Yes,” he said. “But she’s trying to keep a low-profile for the moment so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go shouting around Skyhold that she’s here.”

“I won’t!” She cleared her throat, heat rising in her cheeks. “I mean, of course I would never do anything like that. You know me, Varric; I never give in to my emotions.”

He scoffed but smiled all the same. “Can you spare some time to meet her?”

“Absolutely.” Her stomach growled halfway through the word and her face burned until she felt dizzy. “I, um…”

Varric chuckled and gently took her wrist in his hand, tugging her towards the main doors of the hall while he muttered how she was as bad as Curly. Kaitlyn followed without complaint, one of her hands pressed against her stomach. He led her into the Herald’s Rest where the scents of ale and roast chicken and burning wood coaxed another, louder complaint from her belly.

“Go get something to eat,” he said, letting go. “I’ll be right back.”

She mumbled an apology and made her way through the tavern, her head down. Even with her left hand wrapped in bandages—wearing a black glove all the time drew far more eyes than strips of off-white cloth—the mark glowed faintly, attracting mild attention from the other patrons. She felt the gazes lingering on her. Expecting things from her. Judging her.

_As if any of them could do better. Bet they wouldn’t be in such a good mood either if they had the fate of Thedas literally resting in the palm of their hand._

“I want the largest chicken you have,” Kaitlyn said when she sat down.

The dwarf behind the counter gave her a dull stare as he wiped down the inside of the tankard in his hands. “It’ll be about twenty minutes before the next set it done.”

She rested her chin in her hand when her stomach twisted and groaned. “Can’t I just eat it now?”

“And get blamed for killing the Inquisitor for feeding her undercooked chicken?” He laughed as he walked away, disappearing behind the door that led to the kitchens. The fresh wave of rosemary made her mouth water until she was all but drooling onto the counter.

“You can have mine,” a woman to her left said.

Kaitlyn turned. The shadows that clung to the corners around the woman cast her in a darker light. She wore a mud-caked cloak and sat with a companion—the second figure was obscured from view as they dozed with their head against the wall—and a Mabari curled around her feet. Straight, black hair brushed along her shoulders as she shifted closer to Kaitlyn. The golden undertones of her skin gave her a soft glow in the surrounding candlelight which made the scar that cut up and across her somewhat flat nose all the more prominent. She had high cheekbones and a full, round face. And when she smiled, Kaitlyn caught the faintest touch of red in the woman’s brown eyes.

“I…” Kaitlyn frowned. The woman seemed familiar despite being sure that they’d never met. She was neither beautiful nor plain—there was a soft elegance to the way her eyes slanted upwards and how the shadows moves across her face. Perhaps she was a guard Kaitlyn had seen in passing? Maybe one of the healers who’d been at Haven?

“I’m sorry,” Kaitlyn said. “Do I know you?”

Her smile widened and she gestured to the plate in offering. “Not yet. But I’d like to change that, if you would permit me.”

Kaitlyn’s mouth watered—nearly untouched roast chicken cooked to brown perfection where the skin held the barest crisp; seasoned vegetables with a glazed shine that comes from cooking in butter; richly whipped potatoes that had truly earned the word _fluffy_ with a deep yellow dollop of butter melting at the center.

“I really shouldn’t,” Kaitlyn managed to say, her voice as weak as her will. Leliana had already lectured her about poisons and how she should only eat food that had been proven safe. That didn’t stop her from licking her lips. “Eat your food, I mean. Not the getting to know you part—that’s, um… that part is… is fine.”

The woman sat back but shifted her plate to the edge of her table. “Regardless, you’re welcome to eat what you like. I’ve gone without food before. It is not a pleasant thing.”

Her companion stirred and made a low grunting sound. “You always were one for exaggeration. I suppose you’ll tell her how the Blight was only a minor inconvenience or that Magisters are only mildly annoying.”

“Not so minor,” the woman said, still smiling. “And not so minor. But yes.”

The door to the tavern squeaked open and the woman shied away to the corner, her shoulder coming up to better hide her face. And Kaitlyn, whose stomach was slowly gnawing away at itself in hunger, finally understand.

“It’s you, isn’t it,” Kaitlyn said, taking the empty space across from her. “You’re Mai.”

She looked Hawke over again. Hawke was nothing like the stories. She wasn’t a six foot Avaar-esque warrior with broad shoulders and muscles that could rip a man apart; she wasn’t a living goddess who could make men swoon at her feet with a single glance; she was utterly and completely normal. Not that it should’ve surprised her. Maker only knew what things Varric might say about her if he ever wrote her story.

“I prefer Hawke, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Kaitlyn stumbled, her blush renewing. Hawke. _The_ Hawke. She held her excitement and her questions tight within her throat before swallowing them down.

Mai’s companion stirred, the hood slipping away from his face. “I thought the whole point of this was that we _weren’t_ going to draw attention.”

Fenris needed no introduction. Lyrium tattoos scrawled down his chin towards the opening of his shirt and though they didn’t glow, the bright design was unmistakable. His green eyes darted about the corners of the room before finally landing on Kaitlyn’s face. Suspicion lingered there but not hostility. The rich brown of his skin made his tattoos and his white hair seem that much brighter. His head had been shaved along the sides, the rest of his hair tied in a secure bun at the base of his neck. His features were a series of severe, angular lines with long, sloping cheeks and lips grimly pressed together.

“I…” Kaitlyn started, words failing. Fenris. Hawke. Hawke and Fenris. Here. _Together_.

“Where is that dwarf?” Fenris muttered, his scrutinizing gaze finally releasing Kaitlyn. “He always insists on playing these games.”

“He means well,” Mai said. “And he has more responsibility than he did before.”

“He must _love_ that.” Fenris smirked—he managed the expression with the barest lift of his lips—and turned to Kaitlyn. “Does he meddle and pry into your affairs as well?”

“Sometimes,” Kaitlyn said. “Though it’s usually for the best when he does.”

Mai smiled. “That sounds like Varric. Has he given you a nickname yet?”

“‘Sweets.’”

A slight frown crossed Mai’s face. “That was quick. It’s been ten years and he’s yet to give me one.”

“You’re Hawke. Wouldn’t feel right to call you anything else.”

“… Perhaps.” She shook her head and her earlier smile returned. “Varric told me about what happened at Haven with Corypheus. Says you brought down an entire mountain on him all by yourself. And I thought that what _we_ did was impressive.”

“I…” Kaitlyn faltered again. Hawke. _The_ Hawke. “Yes.”

Mai laughed. “There’s no need to be nervous, Inquisitor.”

Kaitlyn continued to stare at her dumbly. Mai seemed to be in her mid-thirties, at most: hardly older than Kaitlyn herself. She’d known that, of course. But to see the face—to _see_ the woman who had endured so much suffering and loss left Kaitlyn mute. She wanted to embrace the woman, tell her that she’d made the right decision with Carver, that she wasn’t to blame for Leandra, that she’d done her best in a city gone mad. Instead, Kaitlyn smiled weakly and mumbled something nonsensical under her breath. First the Grand Enchanter and now this—if the Hero of Ferelden happened to drop by for an ale, Kaitlyn doubted it would surprise her. Not after everything else.

Mai leaned down when the Mabari began to stir. She rubbed at his ears, making his tongue flop contentedly out of his mouth. “Your spymaster and I have been conversing and I believe the Wardens' disappearance is tied to Corypheus.”

“I don’t understand how,” Kaitlyn said, her curiosity overpowering her caution. “In the book, it seemed as though Corypheus’ connection to the Darkspawn extended to the Warden; but how could a Darkspawn—no matter how powerful— _control_ a Warden? Wouldn’t it be the other way around?”

Mai opened her mouth, then paused, then sighed. “I’ve wondered the same thing myself. Carver always kept the process of becoming a Warden a secret from me, but he did hint that there was a… sacrifice involved. Perhaps whatever they give up is allowing Corypheus to influence them.” She trailed off, eyes growing distant.

Fenris reached across the table. His thumb ran along the back of Mai’s hand as he smiled at her. Their fingers linked and they both shifted closer to the other. It was a small adjustment: small enough that Kaitlyn doubted they’d done it on purpose or that they even noticed the change at all. Fenris leaned over, lips intimately close to her ear. A moment later, Hawke nodded.

“Are you all right?” Kaitlyn asked. “Is it Carver? Is he—?”

“I don’t know where he is,” Mai said. “When the rest of the Wardens disappeared, so did he. Even so, I was able to contact a Warden whom I met back in Kirkwall. He didn’t give me a lot of details but he’s broken off from the rest of the Wardens; we exchanged several letters before Varric reached out to me. I’m to meet him in Crestwood as soon as I can and I’d hoped the Inquisition might be able to help ensure his safe passage. Apparently, he’s had a tail he’s been unable to shake—it seems the other Wardens aren’t taking too kindly to his disobedience.”

“Of course we’ll help. Immediately, if you’d like.”

Mai stared at her a moment, glanced to Fenris, then looked back at her with a grin. “Somehow, I thought you might say that. Might we leave tonight?”

“We could,” Kaitlyn said. “But tomorrow would be better. It’d give us the time we need to prepare the horses and provisions.”

“First thing tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“We’ll be ready,” Mai said. Fingers still linked with Fenris’s, she started to rise.

“Messere Hawke?”

Mai raised a single eyebrow in question.

“It’s just that, um.” Kaitlyn floundered, the words tying up her tongue. “I’m sorry. About what happened to you: your family, Kirkwall, everything. I’m so sorry.”

Mai’s face went blank. Fenris slipped out of his corner in utter silence before he came to stand beside Hawke with a subtle frown—his eyes never wavered from her face.

“Thank you,” Mai said at last before leaving with Fenris. Their Mabari hurried after them, his tail wagging excitedly with every step.

Kaitlyn watched them as they pulled their hoods up and over their heads. Hands still linked, Mai’s head came to rest on Fenris’ shoulder as they walked out of the tavern together. Not five seconds later, Varric slipped inside.

“So,” he said, plopping down in the space Mai had occupied. “How’d it go?”

Kaitlyn dragged Mai’s untouched plate over and buried the fork within the chicken breast before ripping out a chunk and stuffing it in her mouth. Even if it _had_ been poisoned, the sheer bliss of heaven melting across the surface of her tongue would’ve been worth it. She swallowed without ceremony, following it with a heap of mashed potatoes that could’ve made the Divine weep.

“Itwassgood,” she garbled out between the second and third mouthfuls. She swallowed them down with equal fervor then leaned back against the wall, sated for the moment. Varric was smirking at her.

“Why didn’t you come in with me?” she asked.

“I thought it was better this way—more genuine bonding, less pushy dwarf.”

She narrowed her eyes, not quite believing the reason but accepting it all the same. “Is Merrill going to end up popping by too? Or Sebastian?”

“Not that I know of,” he said. “But knowing Daisy, it wouldn’t surprise me if she just shows up to see how Hawke and Fenris are doing.”

Kaitlyn nodded vaguely, wondering what the dalish woman would make of Skyhold as she continued to inhale the plate before her, more than a little tempted to lick the plate clean when she was done.

“I’m going with you,” Varric said when she’d turned to ask if the new set of chickens were ready.

“What?”

“To Crestwood. Even if you didn’t plan to take me—even if you want to leave me behind—I go where Hawke goes. Understand?”

“All right.”

He leaned forward, eyes more intense and focused than she’d ever seen. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Say the whole thing.”

“I promise you can come to Crestwood with Hawke.”

“And afterwards too. I’m not going to be staying at Skyhold when I know she’s out there fighting for the Inquisition.”

“And afterwards too,” Kaitlyn promised. “Varric, what’s—”

“It’s nothing,” he said. He rested back, his usual smile returning. “I’ve set up Hawke and Elf in the barn with Hero since no one will bother them out there.”

“Will they be comfortable?”

He laughed. “They’ve slept in worse places, Sweets. They’ll be fine.”

She flushed under his smirk. “Varric, who was the Warden you met in Kirkwall? Did you name him?”

“He asked me not to—said he had enough of a reputation that he didn’t want to add to it.”

Kaitlyn leaned across the table. “Who is it?”

Varric shrugged, his _I have no idea what you’re talking about_ face an obvious lie. “Guess you’ll have to go and see to find out.”

“You’re no fun.”

He laughed, the sound genuine for the first time that night. “I do try my best.”


	18. Crestwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaitlyn, Hawke, and the inner circle depart for Crestwood to find the Grey Warden and to help the villagers. Back at Skyhold, Cullen finds himself with unexpected company.

Kaitlyn didn’t know if Cassandra was going squeal in delight or scream in fury. She alternated between nervous glances of admiration and searing glares that could’ve sent a High Dragon scurrying for cover.

“ _You_ ,” Cassandra finally hissed at Varric, low enough that Kaitlyn could barely manage to hear it despite standing next to the pair. “You and I are going to share words later, dwarf.”

“As always, Seeker,” he said, “I look forward to it with bated breath.”

She scoffed and stomped away from him, her steps sharp, fists clenched as she mounted her stallion and set off ahead of the rest of the inner circle with muttered words Kaitlyn was certain were curses.

“Is she the one you told me about, Varric?” Mai asked him as she pulled up beside him on her mount.

“She’s the one,” he said. “Did you bring them?”

Mai leaned over to one side and tugged at a ratty, old blanket covering the gear strapped to her mare.

Bull gave a long, low whistle as the blanket fell away to reveal an enormous sword and axe set. Both weapons were made of pure black metal with red sigils carved into the sides. “Those the real thing?” he asked.

“I should hope so,” Mai said with a subtle smile. “Though I can’t exactly ask the Arishok to authenticate them now.”

“ _The_ Arishok?” Kaitlyn asked. She took a slight step forward but Mai was already covering them, robbing Kaitlyn of her chance to inspect the weapons for herself. “But why bring them here?”

Kaitlyn tried to be graceful as she mounted her mare but her lack of practice combined with the continued stiffness of body left her pathetically failing through her first five or six attempts before Bull finally hoisted her up with an arm and plopped her down into her saddle. Her cheeks burned. At least the rest of the party had the kindness to become suddenly interested in the various stones that made up Skyhold. Even Hawke’s Mabari—Garahel—pressed his nose down towards his paws.

“She brought them as a bribe,” Varric said, nudging his horse forward as the lot of them began trotting towards the bridge. “They’re here so that Seeker will hack away at the bad guys instead of taking shots at my face.”

“Then why not give them to Cassandra before?”

Varric clicked his tongue. “That’s not how it works. I have to wait until she’s _really_ ready to knock me down. That way, when I show her what a wonderful present I have—something truly one of a kind that I know she would treasure—she’ll not only back down, she’ll think twice before attacking me because if she hurts me, she might also lose the gift.”

“That’s… rather devious of you, Varric.”

He turned back and winked. “You don’t get the Carta to back off with witty one-liners and chest hair alone, Sweets.”

Mai laughed softly and Fenris made a sound that was midway between a snort and a scoff.

Kaitlyn eased her horse over towards Hawke. She tried to mimic the woman’s relaxed and confident posture but it only ended up making her side ache.

“So,” Kaitlyn said to her. “What can you tell me about the Warden we’re going to meet? You didn’t even tell me his name before.”

“I would prefer to keep that a secret.” Mai’s eyes flicked towards Blackwall. “There’s no telling who might be listening in.”

Kaitlyn lowered her voice. “Blackwall can be trusted.”

“Mmm.” Mai pursed her lips. “Interesting, then, how he can remain unaffected by whatever’s happening and yet have no idea what’s going on with the rest of the Wardens.”

“He’s already explained how he was looking for recruits. For all we know, they _are_ looking for him but haven’t caught up yet.”

Mai shrugged but her expression remained detached and wary. “All the same, Inquisitor, I’d prefer to let _him_ give his name when the time is right.”

Inquisitor. Kaitlyn made a face at the title. It felt wrong for someone like the Champion of Kirkwall to call her that.

“As you wish,” she said, prompting her horse farther up the line, wanting to place herself between Fenris and the back of Dorian’s head which Fenris had yet to stop glaring at. She gripped the reins tighter, shifting in the saddle, already regretting her insistence that she join the party. Then again, it was for the best that she leave Skyhold for a few days—easier to avoid any questions or requests anyone would have for her.

 

* * *

 

Cullen knew someone was in the room with him long before he woke up. He sensed it in his dreams—the unmistakable feeling of eyes watching him drawing him from memories of his mother.

“You awake now, love?” A woman asked.

“I—what?” He rubbed at his eyes as the last dregs of his exhaustion tried to pull him back into unconsciousness.

Bright blue eyes loomed down over his face. He yelped, pinned in place as those large eyes—magnified with spectacles—stared down at him. Wrinkles spread out from the corners until the skin resembled cracked glass. When she smiled, the wrinkles overlapped one another, scrunching in a way that was both jovial and disconcerting.

“So good t’ see you’re awake. We feared you were too deeply under for us t’ stir.”

“We?” He glanced over her shoulder. Three more women—all in the later years of their lives—waved at him with subtle smirks dancing across their lips.

“Well—I—that is—” He continued to sputter as he snatched his blanket and drew it up to his chin, intensely aware of his lack of clothing. “Is there a reason why you’re here?” It couldn’t have been a mistake. They’d had to have scaled his ladder to be standing beside his bed.

“We’re here for _you_ , love,” the blue-eyed one said. “Now get out of bed right quick so we can take some measurements.”

“Measurements?”

“That’s right, love. Up you get.”

“I…”

She began tugging on his blanket.

“All right! Just give me a moment.” He flushed when they made no move to leave. “A moment _alone_ , if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, we don’t mind at all,” one of the other women said. Her hair was more silver than white, eyes a dark brown. One of her companions nudged her in the side which prompted a laugh.

“Don’t worry, love,” blue-eyes said. “We’ll give you some privacy. But be quick about it.”

Cullen watched them leave one by one. He ran his hand over his face, part of him hoping this was just another nightmare. Perhaps the demon of embarrassment had finally found him in the Fade. With a groan, Cullen got to his feet. The floor creaked beneath him.

“Just put on a pair of smalls, love,” blue-eyes called up. “We’d just ask you t’ take off anything else you might put on.

He groaned again. “All right.”

Cullen rummaged around for a moment, careful to keep his blanket up around him as he shimmed his pair of smalls on, cheeks burning harder with each passing second. “Could you at least tell me what these measurements are for?” he asked as he climbed down. He stepped up to his desk the moment his feet hit the floor, trying to cover himself as much as he could from the doors. The tower was a wonderful location for getting about but a terrible place for privacy.

“We were told you needed new clothes,” said the shortest. Her frizzy puff of hair seemed taller than she was.

“For the Winter Palace,” the fourth added with a faint squeak of a voice.

“Ah. Wonderful.” He glanced around then leaned in as though to share a secret. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance that you could accidentally forget to take my measurements?”

It’d be a wonderful excuse to avoid the place. _Sorry, Leliana, but I simply can’t attend without a decent suit. What a shame. I’ll just stay here_. His limited experience with Orlesian nobles had never ended well. Fereldens might be loud or drunk or smell of dog, but at least they didn’t try to beguile, trap, and mock you all within the same breath.

“Sorry, love,” blue-eyes said. The group of them must’ve been hired specifically for the task; he’d never seen them around before and he doubted the Inquisition was a desirable place for the elderly to be; what with the dragon attacks and lethal time magic and all.

With a grumbled _Very well,_ Cullen retreated to the darkest corner in the hopes it would hide part of his blush. He felt the heat spreading down his neck and across his chest as the woman stepped forward with strips of string. They spouted numbers at each other too quickly for him to catch. Turn right. Raise your arms. More numbers. Bend over—his flush deepened when they took near twice as long for that one. Spread your legs. Flex.

“Really?” he asked, ready to scamper up to his bed.

“So that nothing will feel tight,” the short one explained. “Wouldn’t want you to rip a seam when you’re trying to impress a lady.”

He mumbled at that, letting them continue their inspection, thoughts switching to Kaitlyn for less than a heartbeat. He felt like a fool—like a dress-up doll that Rosalie used to enjoy playing with.

“Commander?”

Cullen’s head snapped to the side where Rylen lounged in the doorway.

“I had no idea ye preferred such experienced women.” He winked at them as he stepped into the room and they laughed in return. “I’ll have to keep that in mind next time we go drinking.”

“Don’t you dare,” Cullen said through clenched teeth.

He laughed and leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest in a relaxed manner that only Rylen was able to pull off. Cullen had never understood how the man could seem so at ease all the time. Rylen lingered there, watching the women take Cullen’s measurements before they finally left, repeating the numbers to one another over and over again.

“What was that for?” Rylen asked.

“Outfit for Celene’s ball. And don’t look so smug—I’m sure that one of them will come to measure you up and down soon enough.”

“I look forward to it.”

Cullen rolled his eyes and Rylen's laughter only grew. Telling Rylen to wait below, Cullen returned to his loft, dressing as quickly as he could. He really did need new clothes. His mantle was not only burnt but was now also fraying along the bottom. His shirt bore remnants of old stains despite his attempts to wash them out. Even his boots seemed one long march away from falling to pieces. He felt like an old hound with too many fleas about his ears as he climbed down to Rylen.

Rylen had the kindness to say nothing. He fell in beside Cullen as they walked across the battlements, talking about their new recruits and the templars and how one of the scouts fancied Cullen. Cullen listened with half an ear, his thoughts with Kaitlyn. She’d been crying the last time he’d spoken with her. She’d tried to hide it, but he’d recognized the look.

 _Mages are not people_.

He wanted to bury his face at the memory of those words. He’d known better. Even then, consumed by his pain, he’d _known_ it wasn’t true. Maker’s Breath—what would Rosalie have done if she’d heard him then?

“Commander?”

Cullen stopped and turned to Rylen.

“Ye can’t go in the smithy today.”

He blinked and looked around, not even realizing that he’d walked towards the building. The dull clank of hammers on metal came through the door. Smoke billowed up from the chimneys. “I requisitioned several short swords,” Cullen said. “They should be done by now.”

Rylen grabbed his wrist when Cullen reached for the door.

“I have orders,” Rylen said. “No one’s allowed inside.”

“Orders from whom?”

“From the blacksmith inside.”

“What?” Cullen went over to the window, pressing himself up against the glass. Within, a bald man with a well-trimmed beard was pacing across the floor while a dozen or so men and women bustled around him.

“—has to be perfect, Herren,” the man was saying. “Did you _see_ the materials we get to work with here? It’ll be a dozen—no—a _hundred_ times better than anything we made at Vigil’s Keep.”

“It’ll only be a hundred times better if it’s actually _built_.”

“I’ll get there.” The man dismissed with a wave of the hand. “The design still needs a little adjusting first. And you know how quickly I can work when I’m caught up in the moment. Do you think that the C—”

Rylen tugged Cullen away. “Orders are orders,” he said with an overly relaxed smile. “Even _you_ need to obey them every once in a while.”

Cullen pursed his lips. “But my swords.”

“They’ll still be there when ye need them.” Rylen kept tugging him away from the door, effectively pulling him up into the main hall of Skyhold. Josephine sat in Varric’s usual spot, hair down around her face as she scratched out a letter.

“I brought him, ambassador.” Rylen swept into a deep bow when Josephine looked up, taking her free hand and kissing the back. She blushed and smiled—an expression he returned.

“Excellent,” Josephine said. “Commander, I’d like to have access to your family papers.”

He frowned. “My what?”

“Your lineage,” she said. “It’s always a good idea to have such things ready before going to Orlais. Your position in the Inquisition grants you a certain amount of prestige. Parties may be interested in knowing more about you.”

“No,” Cullen said flatly.

Rylen snickered over his shoulder as Josephine pursed her lips. “I _could_ find it out in other ways, Commander, but I’m asking you for them instead.”

“I believe this is my cue to exit,” Rylen said, starting to step away. Cullen latched onto the man’s arm, jerking him forward.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cullen said with a forced grin. “You’re going to be there too.”

“I don’t thi—”

“Excellent!” Josephine said, bringing a fresh sheet of parchment to the top of her board. “Captain Rylen, let’s start with your parents…”

 

* * *

 

Five days.

Five fucking days of Fenris glaring at Dorian, muttering curses in languages Kaitlyn didn’t recognize under his breath. Five days of Dorian ignoring Fenris’ hostile looks as he took Blackwall aside for private sessions that lasted hours at a time. That’s when Fenris _wasn’t_ calling Cole a demon and angering Solas over his attitude towards mages, of course. Five days of Bull’s incessant snoring. Five days of Cassandra murdering Varric with her eyes and Varric shrugging it off with his usual laughter. Five days of non-stop Fade from Cole and Solas as they discussed magic and spirits in ways she’d never heard of before. Five days of Sera picking up every shiny rock she found for someone named _Widdle_ until she needed Bull’s help to heft the bag onto her horse. Five days of mud and muck and rain that never seemed to even touch Vivienne.

Kaitlyn glared at the marker towards Crestwood village. She took a deep breath, channeling all her patience so she didn’t shatter the sign in ice. Ten more miles? She was certain half of the group would be tearing the other half apart if they had to walk ten more _feet_ together.

“All right!” She said, her temper stretched to breaking ever since Dorian and Fenris got in an argument over Fenris’ Blade of Mercy: such weapons were made for champions of Tevinter, not for skewering rats and roasting them over a fire. “Cassandra, Varric—you’re coming along with Hawke, Fenris, and me to find this Warden friend of ours. Blackwall, Vivienne, Solas, Cole—go to the village to make sure everyone’s all right. Bull, Sera, Dorian… go blow something up.”

“Really?” Bull asked, all perked up, at the same time as Sera shouted, “About time!”

“ _Inquisitor_ ,” Vivienne warned.

“Don’t kill any of our allies,” Kaitlyn added over her shoulder before stomping off. Her legs hurt too badly to continue riding and she was certain another minute in that saddle would leave her permanently bow-legged. Leaning on her staff and using it more like a cane, she did her best not to hobble as she walked along the path, mentally cursing the unending rain. _Snow_ she liked. Snow was soft and light and buried your tracks given enough time. Rain was hard and cold and soaked into everything and made your boots squelch and squish with every step as they got plastered in mud that would harden like rock later.

Mai walked beside her, seemingly unbothered by the storm. When she caught Kaitlyn’s eye, she smiled. The Champion of Kirkwall had been quieter than Kaitlyn had expected. She was reserved, preferring to watch and listen to the others around her before speaking her peace. Fenris would often exchange looks with her, the pair of them seeming to communicate more with their eyes than their words.

Garahel barked several times as he ran around Mai several times before going to Fenris’ side, rubbing his large head against the elf’s knee; his short tail wagged when Fenris scratched him behind the ears.

Kaitlyn watched Fenris from the corner of her eye as they walked, envy pricking her stomach when he took off his cloak and wrapped it around Mai to keep her better sheltered from the rain. The couple exchanged smiles and a light brush of the hand. How was this man the same one who had been so critical of mages on their journey? He dismissed Cole as a demon and when it came to Dorian and Solas, Kaitlyn couldn’t tell which of them Fenris hated more. And yet, with Mai—his _mage_ lover—he was gentle and caring to the extreme. He sheltered her, ensured she was safe and content at every turn. They rarely showed physical affection around the rest of the group, but the touches and glances they _did_ share were intimate to the point of overwhelming.

“We’re getting close,” Mai said, breaking Kaitlyn out of her thoughts.

Garahel’s ears had gone flat against his head. He snarled deep within his chest and his steps were measured and steady as he stalked towards a cave less than a hundred paces away.

“Down boy,” Mai whispered, commanding him to stay where he could guard their backs against intruders.

Kaitlyn slipped inside first, staff held out in front of her. Magic sparked between her fingers and ran along the wood, setting the runes alight as she crept forward, ready to throw up a shield. She glanced back to the others. Cassandra and Mai nodded as one and Kaitlyn shifted farther into the room, sliding her foot across the floor to remain as silent as possible. Her heart pounded. She took a deep breath, then held it. Another sliding step.

A faint buzzing sensation sparked across the back of her neck.

Kaitlyn slammed the end of her staff down, a barrier forming up around the party a single heartbeat before _Mass Paralysis_ snapped into effect. Kaitlyn’s barrier resisted the brunt force of the spell but she was still driven down to one knee with a heavy grunt. Sweat beaded on her forehead and the back of her neck as it became a battle of wills between her and the other caster. Her grip tightened on her staff. Breathing grew difficult as she forced her barrier upwards, directly combating with the spell as Cassandra forced her way forward, determination fierce on her face as she similarly struggled against the weight of the spell even with Kaitlyn’s barrier in place. The Seeker closed her eyes for a brief moment, lips moving soundlessly, before she thrust her sword upwards.

A thunderous _crack_ boomed throughout the room as both Kaitlyn’s and the other caster’s spell dissipated into harmless fizzles of energy that soon faded until nothing remained.

“Was your Warden friend a mage?” Kaitlyn asked Mai, panting as she tried to regain her composure.

Mai shook her head, her appearance similarly strained. Varric was leaning against one of the walls, a hand on his face. Only Fenris seemed to escape relatively intact. His breathing remained even and calm, lyrium tattoos flaring to life as he walked past them all, eyes ever alert as they darted throughout the shadows, reflecting what little light there was, like a cat.

“We seek Alistair Theirin,” he announced to the dark caves beyond. “I come with Mai Hawke and the leader of the Inquisition.”

A low growl, one belonging to an animal, echoed back. Nails scraped against rocks. Kaitlyn swallowed hard as an enormous black bear with thick, shaggy fur stalked out of the shadows.

The room snapped to attention. Mai leveled the end of her staff at the creature, the end sparking with magic in warning. Fenris’ Blade of Mercy glowed within his hands, revealing the powers the metal held. Bianca was tensed and ready, Varric’s finger on the trigger. Cassandra thrust her shield out and dropped into a defensive position. Kaitlyn, still struggling to regain her breath, reached for a lyrium vial on her hip.

“All right,” a new man’s voice said. “I think it’s time that we all just calm down a little. We got off on the wrong foot but that’s no reason for us to needlessly slaughter each other, right?” His head popped around the corner. He grinned at the room, dimples visible even in the dim light. Freckles dotted the bridge of his nose and his hair seemed to be undecided on whether it was blond or ginger. His ears were relatively pointed, for a human’s, which worked well with his long face and easy grin. “Right?”

He stepped around the corner revealing the Warden’s symbol on his chest plate. Moving closer to the bear, his hand ran naturally through the thick fur as he leaned in, whispering something into the animal’s ear. The bear huffed through its nose before shifting up onto its hind legs and then plopping down to sit the same way a person would. It shook itself, slowly at first but then gathering speed. The fur melted. There was no other word to describe it as the animal before her melted away like snow to reveal the woman beneath. Kaitlyn’s jaw fell as she stared at the mage. She’d _heard_ of such magic, but had never seen it in person.

The mage was lithe and short, barely reaching the man’s chest. She was elven but no Vallaslin marked her skin. The armor she wore bore Griffons like the man’s though it was lighter in design. Her dark skin was marked with a scar curling up from the right corner of her mouth. Her hair was black and stuck out around her face in tight corkscrew curls.

“Now then,” the man said, clasping his hands together. “Isn’t this better? I think this is _much_ better.”

The woman sent him a mildly disapproving look but otherwise made no comment. Glowering at Kaitlyn and the others, she tapped her hand twice against her thigh. Seconds later, a light—somehow cheerful—clacking of paws on stone came around the corner as a black Mabari with grey patches trotted into sight with a staff strapped to its back. The staff was a slim thing much like its owner, but radiated power when the woman’s fingers brushed against it. Dragonbone for its main construction—a dark yellow that bordered on black. And there was a red substance at the center. It caught the light, but rather than shining it back like a ruby, the substance seemed to draw in the light as well, holding it within the staff.

Mai stepped forward. “It’s good to see you again, Ser Theirin.”

“It’s been a while,” he said.

“At least a city didn’t have to burn this time.”

“Not yet, anyway,” he agreed with a grin.

Mai’s eyes drifted to the woman and she lowered her head in deference. “I’m glad to see you well, Warden-Commander.”

Kaitlyn fumbled as her staff slipped from her fingers. She caught it a few inches before it hit the floor. Her heart pounded in her ears as her head went light. Alistair Theirin and Asalla Surana. Her mouth went dry and she tried to swallow past the lump forming in her throat to no avail. Theirin and Surana: _the_ Wardens. Enders of the fifth blight. The only Wardens to have ever slain an Archdemon and lived.

“Well,” Varric muttered behind her, “ _shit_.”


	19. Unwritten, Unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Cullen and Kaitlyn struggle with writing to the other. Mai talks to Kaitlyn about what happened in Kirkwall while Cullen receives an unexpected gift.

Kaitlyn stared across the campfire, hearing but not really processing the conversation. Mai and Fenris. Asalla and Alistair. A light giggle escaped her and Kaitlyn coughed in an attempt to cover the sound while her mind screamed in a continuous loop. Questions burned on her tongue until she was squirming, but most of all: how could the Wardens dare turn on their own Commander?

Kaitlyn shifted forward, gathering the will to ask when she realized Alistair and Mai were talking.

“—been a while since Kirkwall,” Mai said.

“Not long enough it seems,” Alistair returned with a dim smile. His arm was wrapped around Asalla while she slept, her head not quite reaching his shoulder. He tucked her closer against his side and readjusted the blanket draped over her and their Mabari. She murmured in her sleep, deep lines growing in her face when she frowned. His arm tightened around her. Leaning in so that his lips were beside her ear, Alistair whispered something before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. The lines lessened but didn’t disappear.

“Is she all right?” Kaitlyn moved closer, hoping she hadn’t spoken out of turn. She turned to her pack and began rifling through it. “There’s a local tea I bought before we made camp—it’s supposed to help with nightmares.”

“No need,” Alistair said. “It’s the Calling. There’s no tea that can help with that—believe me, I’ve looked into it.”

“Calling?” Kaitlyn frowned.

“You—” Alistair stared at her a moment before looking to the corner of Caer Bronach where Blackwall had been sitting not ten minutes before. “I’m surprised Ser Blackwall didn’t explain.”

“He doesn’t talk much about the inner workings of the Wardens.”

“No, I suppose he wouldn’t.” Alistair’s expression flickered in the firelight—dark and pensive one moment, a light carefree smile the next. “The Calling is part of being a Warden, Inquisitor. We’re connected to the Darkspawn, more literally than any of us would like. And, eventually, that connection poisons us. It starts with bad dreams. Then… whispers. It calls to you, quiet at the start, then it grows so loud that you can’t bear it another day. This Corypheus you spoke of in your letters, Hawke; the darkspawn you faced, Inquisitor—ever since his return, every Warden has been hearing their Calling. Damned annoying, frankly.”

Mai shifted closer until she was at the fire’s edge. “ _Every_ Warden. Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.” Alistair gave her a sympathetic smile. “Has your brother not contacted you?”

“No. Not yet.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Perhaps the Inquisition could help,” Kaitlyn said. “We have agents everywhere and we’re growing every day. If anyone could find him, it’d be Leliana.”

“Leliana?” Alistair asked before Mai could speak. “Red hair, blue eyes, sings a lot but you suspect she has a dagger pointed at you.”

“You know her?”

He chuckled softly and rested his head on top of Asalla’s. “I knew her. A long time ago. Forgive me, Hawke: I hadn’t meant to interrupt you.”

“It’s all right,” Mai said. Her hands were balled into fists on her knees, face pale.

“We’ll find Carver,” Kaitlyn told her. “The Warden, the Champion, and the Inquisitor all working together? We’ll definitely find him.”

“Don’t forget me,” Varric’s voice came from one of the nearby tents.

“And Varric, too, of course,” Kaitlyn added, voice louder than necessary. She smiled when he made a grunt of agreement.

Mai laughed, hands slowly relaxing.

“So…” Kaitlyn said after a moment of silence, too excited to be sitting with these two to keep quiet. “You met in Kirkwall, yes?”

“During the qunari attack,” Mai said. “Was it Corypheus you were looking for?”

Alistair nodded. “Though we didn’t know it back then. I often wonder what would have happened if I’d been there instead of Janeka.”

“Nothing good,” Mai said. “Once I’d broken his prison, it was only a question of time before something went horrendously wrong. At least… at least there’s still time to set things right again.”

Kaitlyn paused before putting her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “You can’t blame yourself. You didn’t know what would happen.”

“Ignorance should not excuse what happened with Corypheus,” Mai said. “To do so would discredit all those who’ve suffered at his hand. I may not have known the details, but I should have retreated the moment blood magic got involved.” Her words lingered for a time before she shook her head. “Enough of this. Your people did a great thing today, Inquisitor. Crestwood is now free of the undead haunting them. We should be celebrating.”

“Or sleeping,” Alistair countered with a yawn. He snuggled in closer to Asalla, seeming perfectly content to fall asleep under the open night sky with nothing but a blanket draped over him and his beloved Warden.

“Or sleeping,” Mai agreed.

Kaitlyn glanced over her shoulder—with the exception of a few guards milling back and forth in the distance, the place was empty, the rest of their companions either sleeping or off drinking in town. “Where’s Fenris?”

“He went to see if he could rent a proper bed for the night.” Mai smiled, relaxing another few degrees. “I told him I didn’t need it, but he was insistent.”

“Sounds nice.”

Her smile broadened. She glanced to Alistair—whose head was drooping to the side as his eyes fluttered shut—before scooting around to sit beside Kaitlyn. “Varric tells me the Knight-Captain has become the Commander of the Inquisition.”

Kaitlyn stiffened. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know how Hawke regarded Cullen. “That’s right.”

“How interesting,” Mai said. “Of all the things he could’ve done, I didn’t think he’d jump back into another position of leadership. Especially not one with Chantry ties.”

“We’re _not_ part of the Chantry.”

Mai raised an eyebrow. “Founded by the Hands of the Divine. Guided by Andraste’s Herald—the last person to see the Divine alive.  Funded by Andrastian nobles eager to show their fealty. You may not be sanctioned to the Chantry, but you are tied to it. All of Thedas is.”

“Whether we want to be or not,” Kaitlyn muttered under her breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Kaitlyn waved her hand dismissively. “You were talking about Cullen—how he wouldn’t want to be a leader.”

She shrugged. “That’s how _I_ feel after Kirkwall, at the very least. Cullen stayed afterwards, you know. I was there at the beginning—before people started hunting me. He plunged himself into the center of the chaos, turning the Order into a rebuilding force that helped anyone in need, regardless of rank or circumstance.”

“He did?”

“You didn’t know?”

“… No.”

“I’m not surprised that he didn’t tell you; I doubt he’s told anyone who wasn’t there.” Mai’s voice lowered to a near whisper and she moved in closer. “Varric left a lot of things out, Inquisitor. He meant well, but he always had a bias for his friends—made us look like heroes and martyrs when we were just people struggling in a city that was on the verge of collapse. He made a lot of the people who opposed us look like villains, but that wasn’t always true. Some were, of course. Some were monsters who’d sold their humanity long before I’d ever heard their names, but most… even Meredith had her good moments.”

“So you trust Cullen?”

Mai laughed softly. “I wouldn’t go that far. He did some awful things, but no more awful than myself. And I never considered him an enemy—not even on his worst days. Why?”

Kaitlyn tucked her legs close against her chest and wrapped her arms around herself. “What I read about Kirkwall was such a sharp contrast to how he’d behaved with me in private that I… I…”

“You felt like you’d been tricked.”

She shrugged, not wanting to show how easily Hawke had seen through her. “Maybe a little.”

Mai’s head tilted to one side. Her eyes narrowed as she looked Kaitlyn up and down several times. “You have feelings for him.”

“No, I don’t!” Kaitlyn flushed, putting a hand to her mouth as she looked across the fire. Neither Alistair nor Asalla stirred.

“You trust him at the very least,” Mai said, eyes crinkling with a touch of a smile. “Or trust _ed_ , rather.”

Kaitlyn adjusted her coat, grumbling under her breath without really saying anything. The fire crackled before them, the scent of wood smoke mixing with fresh air that only came after a long rain. “I…” She bit her lip, trying to piece together what she wanted to say. “You and Fenris—you obviously care deeply for one another. Did his opinion of mages ever bother you?”

“Meaning?”

Kaitlyn shrugged again. Mai exuded a calm air—a gentle intimidation that made Kaitlyn think and rethink everything spinning around her mind. “I obviously don’t know firsthand, but Varric’s portrayal makes him seem so antagonistic towards mages.”

“He’s not against mages,” Mai said. “He’s wary of magic. As he should be.”

Kaitlyn frowned. “So it’s never bothered you?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Mai looked up at the stars. It was the first time in three days that the sky had been clear enough for them to be seen. Closing her eyes, she breathed in deep. “Maker knows that things with Fenris haven’t always been easy. He’s more stubborn than he realizes and… yes, sometimes, I wish he felt differently than he does. But I understand it.”

Mai turned back to her. “Fenris suffered terrible things because of magic. Magic _is_ dangerous. Magic is what brought us the darkspawn and all the blights. Magic is what put Fenris through such unimaginable torment that even now he can’t remember it all. Magic is what killed my mother. Magic is what allowed a woman to run rampant through the streets of darktown, killing whomever she pleased. Magic is what prompted a man to murder his own wife in the alienage. Magic allowed people to do terrible things to each other—far more terrible than someone without magic could’ve done.

“Despite all that, Fenris doesn’t _hate_ mages. He holds back to see their intentions before acting. Even when Anders was at his most volatile, Fenris never wanted to take him to the Gallows. Even when I was full of doubt and anger and fear, he never lost patience with me. So… yes; it has bothered me from time to time, but in the same way it bothers me when he drinks too much. He has his flaws just as I have mine.”

“And you love him.”

“Very much.”

“Love who?” Fenris asked as he stepped into the light of the fire. The bottom of his cloak was caked with mud, his white hair turned silver by the moonlight. His tattoos pulsed faintly. Like a physical indication of his heartbeat.

“Donnic, of course,” Mai said. She took Fenris’ hand when he offered it. Within that single second, she was wrapped up in his arms, his cloak over both of them as he snuck the smallest of kisses to her cheek.

“Aveline will be heartbroken.”

“I fully intend to sweep her off her feet as well.”

Fenris chuckled and kissed her cheek again, less subtle than before. “If anyone could accomplish that, it would be you.”

“You could visit us every other Tuesday.”

“So often?” He smiled a little and they turned away from the camp, walking towards town.

“Good night, Inquisitor,” Mai called after a moment.

“Good night, Hawke,” Kaitlyn said softly, not wanting to wake the others around camp. She sat there for a time, watching Alistair and Asalla huddled together. His mouth was open, a soft snore rumbling through his chest. She was silent, mouth closed, not quite as relaxed as him. Her posture gave the distinct impression that she’d be ready to attack any foe at a moment’s notice.

Turning away from them, Kaitlyn took her satchel and rummaged through it until she found paper, pen, and ink. She spread the paper out across her knees and readied the pen.

_Cullen—_

No. Too informal.

~~_Cullen—_ ~~

_Ser Rutherford—_

Ugh. Even worse. Ser Rutherford sounded like a grouchy old man who’d turned groundskeeper.

~~_Cullen—_ ~~

_~~Ser Rutherford—~~ _

_Commander—_

_We made contact with Hawke’s Warden informant. It sounds as though there may be other Wardens who have fled the order. We should contact them before going to the Western Approach._

Kaitlyn dropped her head onto her knees; the paper wrinkled beneath her hands. Yes, that was a wonderful start to a semi-personal letter. Perhaps she should write him about the weather and the muddy roads and how lumpy her bedroll was. He’d surely find that fascinating and not at all a waste of his time.

_I talked to Hawke about_

No. No, no, no. A new start for both of them. He’d said his peace and she needed to accept what he’d said and let it go. She sighed and tried again.

_Are you getting enough sleep? Are you eating regularly? Have your clothes_

Kaitlyn crumpled the page and tossed it into the flames. Her face burned along with the paper and she tossed the pen back into her bag. Settling down, she tucked her hands between her legs so she wouldn’t be tempted to try another letter. Better to wait and talk to him in person. Then she could see for himself how his attempt to be free of lyrium was faring.

 

* * *

 

Kaitlyn—

Lady Trevelyan—

I’ve been thinking of our earlier conversation and there are several things that I’d like to explain about both Kinloch Hold and the Gallows and how I

Inquisitor—

I hope that you are well and that your search for Hawke’s Warden friend is not proving too arduous. Skyhold is continuing to grow and revive as people of all kinds begin to gather around the gates, ready to lend what aid they can. Ser Barris has left with Rylen and a few others to recover any templars who fled Therinfall Redoubt. He and Enchanter Fiona are continuing to work together better than anyone could’ve hoped for. It is not without incident, of course, but together, they’ve been able to reach an uneasy peace between the mage and templar camps. I don’t doubt that this is happening because of your efforts here. Your acceptance of the templars and insistence that they stay has improved their morale while also calming some of their fears.

Since you’ve left, my mind has often wondered to the conversation we had in my office. I know I have given you reason to doubt me and my competence, but I swear to you that I am dedicated to the Inquisition and everyone under its banner, mage or otherwise. Despite anything else I may have said, I believe in the choices you’ve made and I continue to follow you with nothing but pride in my heart. If there is anything else you wish to know of me, you need only ask. The time for keeping secrets is past.

Despite the differences between us, I hope that…

that…

 

“That what?”

Cullen groaned and crumpled up the draft of the letter, tossing it aside to the growing pile of his failed attempts. He’d burn the evidence later.

It felt like an eternity since Kaitlyn had left and taken the bulk of the inner circle with her. He ran his hands over his face and let out another low groan. He must’ve scrapped over a hundred letters since she’d left. Each one felt more forced than the one before. What would he even say? Should he talk about the weather? How Josephine was progressing with her work? He didn’t want to disclose anything that could be misunderstood—and anything of a private nature was off limits since he’d found out that all correspondence was read by Leliana and her spies.

He stuffed his quill into the inkpot and began rubbing absently at the tips of his fingers where his skin was stained black.

It must’ve been at least seven days since she’d gone. Leliana had received a few brief missives from Cassandra, a request from Varric about his publisher, and some notes from Solas about elven artifacts he’d found, but nothing else. Nothing from _her_. He knew better than to expect a message. Kaitlyn would be occupied with her duties and the companions she’d brought. Maker only knew what fresh problems would claim her attention, especially with the rumors of undead coming in from the refugees. And it wasn’t as though she had any reason to report to him. But he couldn’t shake the… ‘Yearning’ was too strong a word for what he felt. But the desire to hear from her, to know Kaitlyn was safe nagged at him, pulled him from his reports and books and meetings, taunting him with images of her hurt or alone.

“Commander?”

Cullen looked up, unable to fully the muster the glare he felt at being interrupted. “Yes?”

The soldier stepped forward: the woman who’d been petrified on the day of the explosion when the demons had come pouring through the valley; the same woman who’d come running with warning of the red templars. There was a slight tremor to her hands when she approached the desk and Cullen tried to relax the annoyance from his face. She was young—mid-twenties at most—with large brown eyes and dark blonde hair. Pretty and soft—a stark contrast to most of their recruits. Warm, too. He remembered that from when he’d carried her to Haven.

“A letter arrived for you, ser.”

Cullen straightened instantly. “From?”

“Don’t know, ser. It wasn’t marked on the outside.” She held the letter out, her pale cheeks gaining a faint pink hue. He snatched it from her. The red seal—broken but redone—all but shattered beneath his fingers as he hurried to unroll the parchment.

_Dear Mia, I'm still alive. Your loving brother, Cullen_

He blinked at the opening line as raw disappointment trickled down his spine, making him slump back down into the chair.

“Bad news, ser?”

“The worst.” He glanced up to the woman. “You’re dismissed.”

“Oh, I…” She lingered there a moment before nodding. “Yes, ser!”

Cullen waited until she was gone before returning to the letter:

_Honestly, is it so difficult? We thought you were dead. Again. If the Inquisition was not on everyone's lips, we would never have known that their fine commander survived Haven._

_We've been hearing strange things about the templars lately. I am not sorry you left them. I thought your resignation was implied when you joined the Inquisition, but you meant something more, didn't you?_

_Emily, the girl Branson was courting last I wrote to you, is now his wife. They haven’t said anything to me but I suspect she’s with child. It wouldn’t be such a terrible thing if the baby were to see their uncle once in a while, would it?_

_Rosalie’s living on her own now. Maker forgive me for saying it, but the fighting between the templars and mages has been good for her. It’s been months since anyone’s come around asking questions and the townspeople like her well enough that no one’s pressed her on how her crops grow so fast or so well._

_I know it's a fool's errand asking you to stay safe, but please try._

_Your loving sister, (see how easy this is?)_

_Mia_

Cullen laughed once and set the letter aside. It didn’t surprise him that Mia had found him—rather, it was strange that it’d taken her so long to send a letter. No matter where he’d gone, or how long he’d been silent, Mia always found him in the end.

Branson married. And with a child on the way. Cullen slid further down his seat as the full weight of his age settled on his shoulders. Branson had been ten the last time Cullen had seen him. A boy constantly covered with scrapes and bruises and mischievous grins. _Married_.

Cullen glared at the crumpled stack of missives to Kaitlyn and shoved them farther away from his desk with his boot. Better to wait and talk in person. Taking Mia’s letter, Cullen left his desk to walk the battlements, checking on his men and thinking of what he would write in return. Mia would only keep pestering him until he responded. She’d probably scale the walls of Skyhold if he waited too long.

“Commander?” Cassandra called up from the courtyard where she was training. “Would you, er, join me for a moment?”

“Is something wrong?”

“No.”

He frowned at the odd tension to her tone. Tucking his letter up his sleeve, he went down to her. She shifted several times before he stopped beside her, her hands fidgeting and wringing together like they did whenever she tried to deceive someone.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“I need to… to talk to you.”

“About?”

“Something private.”

He waited. When she gave no response, he gestured to barracks. “Should we go inside?”

“Inside? I—yes. Inside would be a good idea.”

He shook his head as he trailed after her towards the door. When she paused to open the latch, he glanced back towards his tower.

“What in the Maker’s name?”

The four women who’d taken his measurements from before along with a dozen soldiers were crossing the battlements with boxes and large packages in their arms. One man, a head taller than the rest, was even carrying a training dummy under each arm.

“Cullen,” Cassandra called. “Inside. Now.”

He turned back to her. Her hand latched onto his elbow. She shook her head slightly in a _don’t do what you’re about to do_ sort of way.

“We can discuss this later.” He broke free of her hold, bounding up the stairs and across the battlements.

“Bar the doors!” someone called on the other side.

“Open immediately!” he shouted as the latch remained in place. He pounded against the wood but it held firm. “I demand to know what’s going on.” He tried to pry at the edges of the door but there wasn’t enough space for his fingers to fit. Cursing, he sped down the flight of stairs again, ignoring the growing attention he was bringing on himself, and came up to his room on the other side.

“Let me in,” he snarled as the latch remained locked to him. “By Andraste, I am going to break this door down unless someone explains what you’re all doing.”

“Just give us another moment, love,” a woman called. Blue-eyes, most likely. “We’re almost done.”

“Almost done,” he repeated like it was a curse. He continued in a mumble, “I’ll show you all who’s ‘almost done’ when you open this door.”

Cullen tapped his foot, hoping to leak some of his impatience into the stone beneath him. It didn’t help. When he heard the signature sound of metal grating on metal, he counted to three—not wanting to accidentally slam the door into one of the women—and burst inside. The tail end of the scouts were exiting the other doors as he stepped into the room.

Beneath the loft, where there’d been only scatted debris before, were two of the older training dummies and a suit of armor. The dummies were roughly his height and shape and though time and men had chipped away at the wood and worn the color from the cloth, they stood firm in the clothes they’d been dressed in.

Cullen licked his lips, approaching the figures slowly. The nearest mannequin was dressed a simple clothes: light tan shirt, rich blue jacket, brown breeches, a belt to hang a sword off of, and leather boots tucked underneath. He ran his fingers over the coat’s shoulder. He didn’t know the name of the material but it felt thick and rich. While simple, the outfit was well-tailored—obviously designed to last years, even with heavy use.

The second figure was far more ornate. A loose, dark brown shirt and white undershirt with a high collar served as the base under a large blue overcoat that went down to his knees. The coat was trimmed with silver fur over the left shoulder—the same fur that lined the inside. A set of ropes were draped across the chest; they wrapped around the waist and came back up to the shoulder on the other side. A leather belt—designed to go over the coat—held it all together. It has silverite clasps and runes of protection had been stamped into the leather. Off-white breeches hung from the waist, tucked into a set of brown riding boots that rested on the floor.

On closer inspection, he saw that the rope was a continuous piece, designed to come free with a few expert tugs. A sword—gleaming and beautiful with a dragonbone hilt and silverite blade—hung limply from the hip. A thin wire lined the inside of the belt along with tiny handles on either end: a garrote. And tucked beneath the door, held in place by the ropes, was a golden symbol of the Inquisition as thick as his thumb. He traced the symbol with his fingers, found a small irregularity in the pattern, and pressed on it. The symbol swung upon, revealing a trio of vials inside that he could fill with whatever he wished.

Cullen grinned, wondering what other treasures and weapons he’d find within the suit if he continued to search. It was a suit of armor, hidden in plain sight. A perfect defense to wear to the Winter Palace.

Grand as the two outfits were, they couldn’t compare to the armor set before him. Comprised of volcanic aurum and dragonbone, to say the armor was beautiful was to say that sunsets on the ocean’s horizon were mildly pretty _if_ you liked that sort of thing. Even in the dim light, the metal glowed. The Inquisition’s symbol had been carefully etched into the breastplate and runes of protection and resistance were set into nearly every piece of the suit. He laughed at the helmet—a Mabari with its teeth bared. All told, the armor must’ve been a grand fortune: a king’s ransom.

And it was his?

He rubbed at his eyes when they began to fog over. He couldn’t believe it. It had to be a dream—another deception of something he could never have. Sniffing back the onset of tears, he ran his hand over the surface of the metal, barely daring to touch it too roughly for fear it’d disappear. He almost missed the paper tucked within the right hand. Taking it with trembling fingers, he opened the note.

_You can still be a valiant knight complete with shining armor._

Cullen laughed even as tears slid down his face. He rested his forehead against one of the pauldrons, grinning harder than he had in years. Maybe he did have something to write home about after all.


	20. Familiar Faces

Cullen couldn’t stop walking past the armory. The glass panes were the perfect height for him to use the windows as a makeshift mirror as he admired the cut of his new clothes. He hadn’t realized how much the armor had been wearing him down each day. Now, he strode about the courtyard, wrist resting idly on the pummel of his blade. Rylen would’ve mocked him if he’d been there—a silver lining to the man’s absence. Cassandra, too.

 _Stop preening like a peacock in heat_ , she’d say.

He didn’t care. He loved it. He’d never had such fine clothes. The fit and feel were both the definition of perfection. The clothes moved with him, stretched with him, becoming his second skin. Even the armor—which he’d only worn within his tower, feeling as though the armor bordered on the sacred—seemed to have been pulled directly from the Fade.

And it was all _his_.

“You’re looking very nice,” Josephine said as she descended into the courtyard. She lacked her usual board but made up for it with twice her usual smile. “I didn’t think you’d ever give up that burnt mantle of yours.”

Cullen grinned. He’d already made plans to convert the pieces he’d salvaged into a blanket for Branson’s child. According to The Iron Bull, busying his hands with something creative would help distract his mind during the darker moments.

“It’s rather smart, don’t you think?” he asked, not quite twirling.

“It is. The Inquisitor was quite adamant that no expense be spared.”

“Do you know when she’ll return?”

It felt like a month had passed since he’d seen Kaitlyn in person. He’d yet to write to her. A mistake that twisted in his gut, sounding oddly of his sister’s voice with its whispered _It’s rude not to thank someone for a gift, Stanny._

“She was meant to return last night,” Josephine said. “Though, according to Cassandra, traveling with such a large group has slowed them down considerably.”

“But they reached their checkpoints without trouble?”

She nodded.

“Thank the Maker for that.” He turned to the portcullis as though his desire would magically summon the party to Skyhold. Glancing back to Josephine, he asked, “Was it truly Warden-Commander Surana in the Crestwood cave?”

“And Ser Theirin.”

Cullen let out a low sigh. He hadn’t seen Asalla since Kinloch Hold when he’d begged her for the Annulment. Maker’s Breath, yet another thing Kaitlyn was going to learn about him. Even if she’d agreed to a fresh start, would she still feel that way if she discovered that he’d once begged to Annul Kinloch Hold even when he’d known there were children inside?

His earlier joy at his fine clothes evaporated. He’d _known_ those children. He’d known their names. He’d watched Miya teach them. He’d fetched bandages when one girl scraped her knee. He’d guided a set of siblings through prayer, encouraging them to have faith.

“Commander?”

“What?” He blinked.

“Are you all right?” Josephine came over to him. “You look pale. Perhaps you should go see one of the healers.”

“Yes,” he murmured. “Perhaps I should.”

Cullen trudged off, hearing Josephine speak without comprehending the words. He let his legs carry him forward, going to the clinic where he sat obediently under the healer’s potions and leeches. All the while, he kept one eye on the gate. What would he tell her? He wanted her to know everything—his family, Kinloch, Kirkwall, what he’d wanted to be as a child, what he wanted to be now, his nightmares, his hopes, the things he didn’t dare wish for even in his most private thoughts. And he wanted to know her—where her scars came from, her fears, her favorite book, if she liked to dance, what she’d be if she could pick anything in the world. How did a conversation like that even begin?

“ _Raise the gate!_ ”

Cullen was on his feet and walking to the drawbridge. Hours must’ve passed for the sun was closer to the horizon now. His stomach niggled at him, pushing him to divert towards the kitchens, but he ignored it.

“Is it the Inquisitor?” he asked.

“Yes, ser.”

He nodded once in recognition before quickly adjusting his clothes, wanting to present Kaitlyn’s gift in the best possible way. Straightening to his full height, he set his arms behind his back and waited as over a dozen horses and several Mabari came trotting into the courtyard.

“It’s good to see you’ve all returned.”

“I’m amazed that Skyhold survived without us,” Dorian said as he slid from his mount.

“It really couldn’t have gotten much worse,” Varric muttered which earned a glare from Solas.

Vivienne tsked them softly. “The renovations are looking marvelous. I’m glad to see that Josephine took my advice about that old tower.”

“Not bad,” Bull agreed. “Could use some more color though. Pink, maybe. Or orange.”

Cassandra scoffed, saying how a fortress was supposed to be defendable, not pretty, while she dismounted.

Cullen more or less ignored them all—hurrying past Mai and Asalla before either woman took notice of him—and went straight to Kaitlyn who was bringing up the rear. She was half-hunched over her horse; her knuckles had gone pale from clenching the reins and when she turned to him, her eyes were unfocused with faraway thoughts.

“Inquisitor?” he asked softly.

She blinked. “I—Commander.” Straightening, she shifted about her in her saddle. “Are we—I…” She blinked again before moving to dismount, accepting the hand he offered her. Her foot caught in the stirrup at the last second and she went stumbling forward into his chest. He held her there as she righted herself. Her hair smelled like rain. And she was warm. And he wanted to hold her closer until the weariness in her eyes relaxed away.

“Are you all right?” he asked instead, letting his hands fall to his sides when she was done.

“Yes. I’m not quite sure what I’m—I mean, there’s just so much that we…” She trailed off as she looked him over. The faint lines around her eyes deepened with her smile. “They finished the clothes.”

Cullen couldn’t help but puff his chest out a little. “The people you hired know their trade. I was quite impressed with the armor as well: extremely fine craftsmanship for being done within such a short time.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

“Very much so.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d…” Kaitlyn glanced down to her feet before looking back up at him, her cheeks a shade darker than before. “I fear I may have gone a bit overboard with telling them to make some of your clothes blue.”

He shook his head. “I like it. It was very kind of you to do this for me, Inquisitor. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She inched closer and his eyes swept over the flecks of mud on her face, the way her bottom lip had been chapped by days of hard riding—he knew a wonderful way to help that. “Cullen, I was hoping that we might—”

“Asalla!” Leliana sprinted down the steps and across the courtyard, her usual reserved persona utterly abandoned as she caught Asalla and Alistair in a tight hug. She held them tight, one arm wrapped around each of them.

Beside him, Kaitlyn frowned.

“You didn’t know?” Cullen asked. “That they were companions during the Blight?”

“Leliana was?” Kaitlyn leaned against her mare, arms looping around the horse’s neck as her eyes regained their thousand-league stare.

His hand brushed her arm. “Are you—”

“Cullen?” Asalla, peeking over Leliana’s arm, narrowed her eyes. “It _is_ you.”

He cleared his throat, feeling Kaitlyn’s eyes as he turned to the Warden-Commander. “Hello, Asalla.”

“It’s been a while.”

“Almost ten years now.”

He smiled weakly. “You look… tired.”

“Hey!” Asalla’s companion craned his neck to send Cullen a glare. “You wouldn’t be a basket of roses if you’d been on the run for nearly half a year.”

Cullen raised his hands in surrender, his smile growing when Asalla nudged the man playfully in the side—a gesture he would never have expected from her. Asalla slipped from Leliana’s hold, coming over to him. She paused there, staring up at him with a decade of experiences and pains between them, before placing a hand on his left forearm. For her, the touch was an intimate embrace. He returned the grip with his free hand.

“It’s good to see you again,” she said.

“I didn’t think you’d feel that way.”

She smiled and her fingers squeezed softly before letting him go. “There is much for us to discuss.”

“It seems everyone knows our Ser Rutherford,” Mai said, frowning at him.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck as a mild ache formed at the base of his skull. Maker, he’d been dreading this for days but the reality was a thousand times worse. He’d known Mai Hawke was Miya Amell’s cousin since the first day he’d seen her on the Wounded Coast. But he doubted she knew that _he_ was the templar Miya had been with before her death. He doubted she knew that _he_ was the one who’d held Miya’s body in his arms.

Asalla turned to Mai before he could answer and said, “He was a templar in my Circle.”

“You were in Kinloch Hold?” Mai asked her.

“That’s right.”

“Did you know an Amell there?”

“Miya?” Asalla asked, eyes shifting onto Cullen for a moment.

Mai followed her gaze, comprehension widening her eyes. She went silent, lips pursing together as she withdrew to Fenris’ side. He wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Is something wrong?” Asalla asked.

Mai shook her head. “She… Miya was my cousin.”

The air grew thick with silence. Except for the scraping of horse hooves on stone and the rustling of the leaves in the wind, everything else held still for the two women.

“I see,” Asalla said after a moment. “I am sorry, Mistress Hawke. I knew her well; she was kind and warm: a true friend. Her passing was a loss to us all.”

“Yes,” Mai said, eyes locked on Cullen’s face. “A terrible loss.”

He cleared his throat, cheeks warming. “Perhaps we should move any discussions we have inside.”

“Yes,” Leliana said, returning to her Warden friends where she embraced them again, a faint shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes that lingered for a second before disappearing behind her usual, confident mask. The three walked together with the rest of the party falling naturally in line, Cullen staying close to Kaitlyn’s side as Leliana continued, “Between Celene’s assassination and the rumors of the Wardens, there is much to plan.”

“The ball at the Winter Palace isn’t for another three months,” Cullen said. _Thank the Maker_. Every day that passed without him having to rub elbows with an Orlesian crowd was a good day. “It may be best to focus our attentions on the Wardens in the meantime.”

“Not necessarily,” Asalla said. “There is an old ritual tower in the Western Approach I wish to scout out, but Adamant Fortress will need a well-trained and well-stocked army to lay siege to it. Furthermore, I wouldn’t wish to attack them without knowing more of the situation first. I have friends who may have the information we need—friends who wouldn’t have given into Clarel’s obsession.”

“I still don’t understand,” Kaitlyn said. “How could Clarel do this to you at all? You’re of the same rank!”

“So long as Weisshaupt remains silent, Clarel can get away with whatever her men will support. Ferelden’s Warden numbers have been low since the Blight; many of those working within our borders were actually borrowed from Orlais. Those we _did_ have are simply following suit. Fear is great motivator for following orders, and the Wardens are very afraid.”

Solas scoffed. “A fear that will plunge the entire world into madness.”

Asalla stopped and turned to him. “The Wardens carry a great burden, greater than most will ever know. Do not mock them when you have not made that choice yourself.”

“I have not chosen that path because I know it to be foolish.”

“Foolish? _Stopping Blights_ is foolish to you?”

“The way the Wardens do it, yes. You play with black powder and then claim your actions were righteous even as nations burn.”

“If you have a better way,” Asalla said, “by all means, _share it_.”

Solas clenched his jaw. “… I cannot.”

Asalla glanced him over once before turning to continue towards the main hall. “Either way, it would be best to postpone any movement on Adamant until _after_ the Empress’ ball.”

“Understood,” Cullen said even as Leliana claimed she could find anyone Asalla needed.

“More Wardens,” Blackwall muttered. He’d been unusually quiet since his arrival; by now, he was usually joking with Sera and Bull as they walked arm in arm towards the tavern. Instead, he kept his head low, sticking to the back of the group.

Cullen turned to ask Kaitlyn about it, but she was already gone. “Inquisitor?” He glanced around, barely catching the subtle movement of a door closing in the corner—the door that led to her room. He started towards it when Cassandra placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Commander,” she said, her tone haggard and low. “I’m utterly famished.”

“You look terrible,” he said with a smile, easily falling into line beside her.

“I feel it, too. I’d heard stories from Leliana about Alistair before but I didn’t believe them.”

“That bad?” he asked in a whisper.

“He and Varric were _always_ talking! And Dorian couldn’t leave Lady Surana alone, constantly asking her questions about the Joining and Tevinter Wardens. And Sera, _ugh_ , I will never understand where she gets all the energy from.”

Cullen smiled as she continued to talk about the arduous journey, claiming that the dragon they’d faced down was the easiest part of the entire trip. He listened with half an ear, his eyes continuing to drift to the door Kaitlyn had gone through as the tables were shifted to fill the center of the great hall. Even when dinner was called, heaping platefuls of steaming food laid onto the tables until they groaned beneath the weight, she remained absent.

Leliana remained close to Asalla and Alistair, smiling more broadly than he’d ever seen. Soldiers and templars and mages all peeked around the doors to get a better look at the Champion of Kirkwall and the Hero of Ferelden. Laughter filled the room as stories began to fly across the table of happier and harder times. Bull cheered on the two new Wardens as they out-ate and out-drank everyone else, making jokes about legendary Warden stamina that left Blackwall staring into his mug with a mildly panicked expression. Cassandra made a sound that _almost_ qualified as a girlish shriek as Varric and Mai presented her with the Arishok’s blade and axe, her alcohol-ruddied cheeks glowing in the candlelight as she swung the weapons about.

And still, Kaitlyn remained absent.

Taking her empty plate, Cullen gathered what little food remained, muttering empty excuses when Josephine asked where he was going as he slinked away from the table.

“Inquisitor?” he called out while he walked up the stairs of the newly finished wing. “Inquisitor, are you here?”

What if her injuries were flaring up again? Fighting a dragon was no small task. And days of riding without rest could do nearly as much damage to her body.  

“Inquisitor?” he called again when reached the final flight of stairs. A faint light burned ahead, encouraging him forwards. “You didn’t come to dinner so I brought some food for…”

Kaitlyn lay on her bed. She stared up at the ceiling, her hands resting on her stomach. Every muscle was tense and focused; her fingers tremored; her eyes were glazed and unfocused.

“ _Inquisitor?_ ”

She didn’t respond.

He tossed the tray aside on a table near the stairs and ran to her. Her skin was cold when he touched her wrist, feeling around for a pulse. The beat was heightened but steady. “Kaitlyn, can you hear me?”

Her eyes turned, one halting degree at a time, towards his face. They were blown wide with terror and when she spoke, her lips trembled. “I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“ _This_ ,” she said. “The Inquisition.”

He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I can’t _do_ this, Cullen.” She sat up and latched onto his wrist. His skin chilled under her touch as her magic pulsed in her fingers with her heartbeat. He made no protest. “Any of it. I was an idiot for thinking I could be the Inquisitor. You asked me why. I thought—Maker, I thought that I could show people that mages weren’t to be feared, that I could make a difference.” Kaitlyn’s laugh was high-pitched and strained. Her eyes continued to bulge. “ _Make a difference_? How naïve is that? I’m not qualified to lead something like this. I can’t—I can’t—!”

Placing his free hand on her shoulder, he hushed her gently. “You’ve been doing an admirable job so far, better than anyone else could’ve done. It’s true!” he added when she scoffed. “Kaitlyn, I don’t think you realize how much you’ve accomplished. Delrin and Fiona are working together to keep everyone safe. We’ve had no possessions and no major complaints from either side. Mages and templars are managing to work together without conflict and without the Chantry: something like that is nearly unheard of.”

“But—” She gestured towards the stairs. “But—”

“But what?”

“But it’s _the_ Champion and _the_ Warden. I can’t order people like them around. I’ve been locked away my entire life; I _still_ get excited every time I step outside on my own. Someone like me shouldn’t be ordering around people like Mai and Asalla. Asalla and Alistair were only twenty when they went up against the Archdemon. They fought demons and united nations and saved kings and did things no one thought possible. And they were _twenty_. Maybe—” She shifted closer to him, her grip tightening on his arm. “Maybe Asalla will take over if I ask her to. She has the experience, and people already love her. Just knowing that she’s our leader would draw people to our cause. She knows Queen Anora, after all.”

“Surana serves the Wardens,” he said. “She can’t serve the Inquisition as well. And Hawke would never accept a position like this.”

“But I…” She sniffed and her eyes grew heavy with unshed tears. “I’m _scared_ , Cullen. People are going to die because of _my_ choices. If I make a mistake, _thousands_ will pay the consequences. I thought I understood what that meant, but… seeing the bodies of Old Crestwood, knowing that I might have to be faced with a choice of sacrificing the few to save the many, I… I don’t think I can live with that; I’m not strong like the rest of you.”

Cullen stared at her a moment. She pursed her lips, looking down at his chest as she struggled not to cry. The hand resting on her shoulder cautiously slid around to wrap around her back. He drew her closer. She trembled when he rubbed her back, her fingers tightening around his arm.

“You’re not doing it alone, Kaitlyn. It’s what your advisers are for—what _I’m_ for. You can rely on us to help you.” His hand started upwards to cup her cheek, but he thought better of the gesture, continuing to rub her back instead. “I know that it’s difficult; the three of us can hardly agree on anything, but we’re here for you. Everyone in Skyhold is here to help you. You may be our leader, but you don’t carry the weight of the Inquisition alone. And you’re wrong about one more thing.”

Kaitlyn pulled away. Her eyes had turned red but she still hadn’t cried.

“It will never be your fault,” he said. “Every life we lose, every defeat we suffer—it’s all because of Corypheus. Him and no one else.” She looked away and he tilted his head to follow. “I mean it, Kaitlyn. The Inquisition couldn’t ask for a better leader than you.”

She searched his face through bloodshot eyes as though looking for a lie. When she found none, a tiny smile crept across her lips. “I’m sorry about this.” She let go and rubbed at her eyes, turning away as shame filled her expression. “This isn’t a very responsible way to behave.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Inquisitor.” He stood there, not wanting to leave but not daring to press closer.

“Oh, shit,” she hissed, shifting on the bed. “Your arm.”

He blinked and looked down. The skin she’d touched had gone faintly pink with the onset of frostnip. He hadn’t even noticed. “It’s fine,” he said.

“No, it’s not. Hold still.” She peeled back his jacket and shirt before rubbing her palms together. Magic sparked between her fingers. “I’m sorry. You keep seeing me at my worst. I almost never lose focus like this.”

“It’s fine,” he said again. But he held out his arm to her anyway. She wrapped her hands around his arm and a shudder rippled through him.

“Too hot?” she asked.

“No. It’s—it’s fine.”

“I’ve never been very good at warming things up.” Another small smile touched her face. She closed her eyes and the subtle green glow of healing magic bled between her fingers. The sensation pricked and tickled his skin. It last only a moment. She turned his arm over when she was done, inspecting her work, her fingers brushing along his wrist. “Better?”

“Yes.” His voice was hoarser than he’d intended. He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

“It was my fault to begin with.”  

He made a noncommittal sound. Her hair was loose from how she usually combed it back. The deep brown strands softened her face, making her appear younger than she was. Her fingers lingered on his arm. Would she be able to feel the way his heart quickened under her touch?

“Can I ask you something, Commander?”

“Of course.”

She shifted away and he sat down beside her, arm tucked into his lap. He wished the skin would stop tingling.

“What was that between you and Mai?”

“What was what?”

“Miya,” Kaitlyn said. “You mentioned her in your nightmare, too.”

Cullen opened his mouth but only a low groan escaped him. He shifted to the edge of the bed, staring at one of the stained-glass windows. “Once, back in Kirkwall, Hawke asked me why I felt the way I did towards mages. At the time, there were a lot of reasons—terrible reasons—for my… disposition. But I told her the main truth: blood mages had killed the woman I loved. But I never told her _who_ that was. I knew they were cousins from the start, and it felt heartless to use Miya’s name around Hawke like that.”

When he closed his eyes, he still smelled the blood, felt the weight of Miya’s body in his arms, remembered the words _it_ had used when it stole her face.

“I’m sorry, Cullen.” Her hand was light on his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Don’t be sorry. I could’ve refused to answer if I’d wanted.” He turned to her. She squeezed his arm and then pulled away to rest against the bedpost. Silence fell between them.

“It’s funny,” she said after a while, sounding like she was talking more to herself than to him. “Well, not _funny_ , but interesting.”

“What’s that?”

“Mages and templars. There’s such a huge divide between us and yet…” She trailed off and her cheeks darkened. She bit her lower lip, trying to suppress a smile. “There was a templar I was, uh, rather fond of back at my Circle. He was the one who showed me that templars were just people: some good, some bad, some terrible, some wonderful. He was kind to me— _incredibly_ kind—brought me books and little cakes. Gave me a flower when he first came to the Circle.”

“Are you two…?”

“No. He never, um.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “He never saw me in that kind of way.”

 _His loss._ Cullen kept the words behind clenched teeth.

“Where is he now?” Cullen asked.

“No idea. He left the Circle when they were officially disbanded, said he had some soul-searching to do. I wrote him a few times, but he never wrote back.”

“But you stayed at the Circle?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

Her smile bore a lifetime of sadness. “I had nowhere else to go. I knew how to heal, a few defensive spells, how to deep freeze things, but nothing I could really market. And there’s so much fear around mages these days; who would hire me?” She laughed. “I suppose I could’ve been like Anders: setting up a clinic where people were too desperate to turn me away. But I’d never been on my own before and I wasn’t ready to leave the only life I’d ever known.”

“It can be terrifying to start a new path,” Cullen said, his hand going to the pocket where he kept Branson’s coin. “Utterly terrifying.”

She nodded absently. “When news of the Conclave reached us, I insisted on going. Though it may have had more to do with trying to find Andrew than trying to settle things with the templars.” Her smile grew sheepish. She gave him a little nudge in the shoulder. “And here we are.”

“And here we are,” he agreed.

 _I’m glad you’re here_. He shifted towards her. _I was worried about you._ He set his hand on the bed so it rested next to hers. _I missed you._

Why couldn’t he say any of it? Why couldn’t he—

Kaitlyn’s stomach snarled. Her cheeks burned and she pressed her hands against her belly, muttering an apology under her breath.

“Uh.” Cullen blinked. He all but jumped back onto his feet. “I brought some food up for you, Inquisitor, it was—” He stared at the tray he’d brought. In his haste to check on Kaitlyn, he’d tossed it onto the nearest table where it had apparently flipped over, scattering and splattering the food across the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

She laughed while she walked over to inspect the mess. “It’s all right. The room needed a bit of decoration anyway.”

He brought a hand up to his forehead to hide his face, blushing hard enough that the tips of his ears burned. _A wonderful romantic gesture, Cullen. Just smear it in her bed next time. Maybe grind it into her sheets while you’re at it._

“Cullen,” she said, her voice closer than he’d expected. She was smiling when he glanced at her between parted fingers. “It’s all right, I promise. I appreciate the thought.”

He groaned internally. People only _appreciated the thought_ when you’d messed up beyond repair. “I’ll clean it right away.”

“No, you won’t.” Her smile widened, the earlier fear gone from her face. “I’ve taken up enough of your time tonight. And it’s not _that_ big of a mess. Well,” she teased, “it _is_ a rather epic in scale, but I think I can handle it.”

“But—”

“I’ll take care of it,” she said, moving closer to him. She lingered there, staring up at him. And then, her arms were around him. Her forehead rested against his shoulder as she held to him. He raised his arms. Too slow. She stepped away before he could embrace her, leaving an empty, aching feeling in her wake. “Good night, Commander. And thank you.”

Cullen nodded, dazed. He stepped around the mess, almost walking into the railing as his eyes refused to look away from her. He cleared his throat, a sharp awkwardness he hadn’t felt since his youth settling into his chest. His bow felt stiff, mechanical. “… Good night, Inquisitor.”


	21. Awakening

Cullen leaned back in his chair, enjoying the gentle warmth the garden provided. He’d heard others talk about magic seeped into the stones of Skyhold, a magic that allowed for the good weather and protection and flowing waters they all enjoyed. Sometimes, he could almost hear Miya’s voice telling him about all the different spells that helped everyday life for farmers and merchants and families alike. Years had passed, but he still wished he’d paid more attention to the words and not the lips speaking them.

“Commander?” Dorian asked as he stepped up to the chessboard Cullen had set out. “Did you still wish to play a game?”

“Of course.” Cullen straightened and adjusted a few of the pieces. He raised an eyebrow when Dorian set down a large stack of books beside his chair before settling in. With the spectacles perched on the edge of his nose and a blanket draped over his shoulders, Dorian looked more scholar than necromancer. “Are you unwell?”

“It’s these mountains,” Dorian said. “I’m still not used to how bloody cold it can get out here. I will never understand how you Fereldens and Orlesians can just _live_ out in this temperature all the time.”

“I suppose we’d all be better off in Minrathous?”

“For the weather, absolutely yes.” Dorian shifted the blanket, somehow able to make the bedding look regal. Picking up the book on top of his stack, he opened to the marked page. “I will say this for your beloved Ferelden, though—you have _excellent_ foliage.”

Cullen narrowed his eyes, unsure if he was being mocked. “Thank you…?”  

“Did you know that you actually have a flower that slows down the spread of the taint within a person? A _flower!_ And you’ve been giving it to _dogs._ ”

“Mabari,” Cullen corrected. “They’re not just _dogs_ and yes, I’ve heard of it. Supposed to be nearly extinct.”

“Nearly is not fully, thank the Maker.”

Cullen watched Dorian as he continued to read through his book. Though he knew Dorian was Andrastian, he couldn’t recall ever hearing the man thank the Maker for anything till now.

“The Inquisitor already sent off an expedition into the Wilds for it,” Dorian continued as he flipped through another page. “Should be here within a few days. And with the Warden-Commander, well—possibilities, my friend, are a wonderful thing to have.”

Cullen smiled and moved a pawn forward. “Couldn’t agree more.”

Dorian didn’t even look up as he nudged one of his own pawns forward a space.

“We can play later if your attention’s divided,” Cullen said. “I’d hate for you to get so caught up in your reading that you forget to cheat.”

“This suits me fine,” Dorian said, smirking. “You nearly always open with the same three moves.”

“I do not.”

“You’re about to move the third pawn from the right forward two space.”

“I—” Cullen flushed, his fingers on the very piece Dorian had named. Grumbling under his breathing, he took one of his knights and moved it forward out of spite.

Dorian’s smirk broadened. He continued reading for another page where he made a small mark before closing the book. Setting it back on the pile, he took off the spectacles and tucked them beside one of his many buckles. Fingers resting lightly on his queen for a moment, he studied the board before mirroring Cullen’s move.

“Your research is coming along then?” Cullen asked after the game had progressed a few turns.

“Slower than I’d like, but yes. Neither Surana nor Theirin will give me the full answers I want—and Blackwall’s as specific as ever—but I’m making progress. Glad to have Alexius here. I still want to knock his head against the wall every now and again, of course, but no one’s more dedicated than he is.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck as a slight twinge of pain crept along his skin. Dorian didn’t rely on lyrium as heavily as most battlemages but Cullen could still hear the song of it in his blood like the barest of whispers.

“Imagine it,” Cullen said, latching onto the conversation as he tried to distract himself, “we band together to stop one ancient magister and end up curing the Blight itself.”

“Perhaps. Yes.” Dorian moved another piece, his focus obviously elsewhere. “Yes, that’d be a world I’d quite like to see.”

Cullen smiled and moved his mage towards one of Dorian’s towers. The game continued in idle conversation—mostly about Leliana and Josephine’s preparations for the upcoming ball at the Winter Palace. Part of him continued to cling to the hope that he’d be able to escape going, but at least he’d have something decent to wear when the rest of the Inquisition dragged him along. Cullen paused on his way to claim Dorian’s king. What kind of clothing would Kaitlyn wear? A gown? A uniform? Or would they make her wear some kind of Chantry costume? According to Leliana, appearance was everything in Orlais and Kaitlyn was simultaneously the king and queen of their game.

“Cullen?” Dorian prompted.

“Forgive me. My mind wandered.” Cullen won the match with little pleasure, already moving to reset the board as Dorian asked one of the servants to bring him tea.

They were nearly halfway through the second game when Dorian stopped, piece hovering above the board in his fingers. Cullen blinked, then followed his distracted gaze. On the other side of the garden, near the small Chantry, Rylen, Felix, and Kaitlyn came walking in together.

Time was not treating Felix well. Hardly a month had passed since Haven’s ruin and Felix’s recruitment and yet the signs of Blight had grown a thousand fold. Grey lines crept beneath his skin towards eyes which had lost their luster. He had gained a slight hunch, his legs shuffling rather than walking. But he smiled through it all. Especially when he was around Dorian.

Cullen looked back to the mage across from him. Dorian followed Felix’s every movement, the game forgotten as his hand drifted back towards his book.

“How is he?” Cullen asked.

“What? Oh—he’s… he’s fine. Some things are getting harder for him, but he hasn’t lost hope yet. Or maybe he has and he’s just become a better liar these last few years.” Dorian set his piece down and settled into his chair. “He’s trying, and that’s as much as I could ever ask from him. We’re close now. I can feel it in every beat of my heart—we’re going to save him.”

“If anyone can, it’s you.”

Dorian glanced to him and made a sound that was half laugh, half scoff. “No need to look so serious, Commander, it’s not as though—”

“You love him.”

Color drained from Dorian’s face. His jaw flexed before he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You joined this Inquisition because of him—because you wanted to help him save his father. And you stayed because you knew we could help cure him.” Cullen kept his words gentle; he’d never met anyone more loyal than Dorian and didn’t want pile on to the ache Dorian was already enduring. “You asked Kaitlyn to be merciful with Alexius because you knew that would make Felix happy, didn’t you?”

“What of it?”

“You should tell him,” Cullen said.

“Tell him what?”

“How you feel about him.”

“Why? Because he’s dying?”

“Because you _love_ him.”

“That’s rather hypocritical coming from you, Commander.”

Cullen blinked. “What?”

“Don’t act coy. You’re always asking after the Inquisitor in every letter you send and you’ve flaunted your new clothes to anyone who would hold still for more than five seconds.”

“I haven’t—”

“All the soldiers talk about is the shouting match the pair of you had before Crestwood,” Dorian continued. “And yet, the pair of you keep going out of the way to help the other. If I didn’t like you both, it would all be quite insufferable.”

“The Inquisitor and I aren’t—She doesn’t— _I_ don’t—”

“Of course not,” Dorian said. “You didn’t go out into the mountains and save her from freezing to death. She didn’t dedicate her fortune to giving you the best armor gold could buy. You didn’t take food up to her room the other week when she didn’t appear at dinner. She didn’t ask every healer in Crestwood for advice on how to get rid of nightmares. No. No, you’re absolutely right, Commander. You can barely stand the sight of her.”

Cullen clenched his jaw.

Checking to ensure Kaitlyn and Felix were still well out of earshot, Dorian leaned forward. “Even _if_ there were feeling involved—which there aren’t—things could never work out between Felix and I. He knows me, Cullen. Knows me better than anyone else in all the world.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

Dorian stared at Felix while he spoke, a deep regret in his voice. “If our beloved Inquisitor had actually been _in_ the Gallows while you served as its Knight-Captain, do you think she would like you now? Yes, I know about Varric’s little book, but it’s not the same thing. If she had been there, if she had heard and seen the worst parts of you firsthand, do you think you could ever be with her? Because that’s what it’s like between Felix and I. He knows every black deed, every angry word, every drunken idiocy.” Dorian gave a bitter laugh. “Once, when Gereon came to collect me, I asked him to join me in bed with the three elven men I’d hired for the night. What a wonderful foundation for a relationship.”

“It’s not too late,” Cullen said, speaking quickly as the others drew near. “There’s still time to—”

“I’m starting to wonder if ye know any other games beside chess, Commander,” Rylen said with a grin.

With a sigh, Cullen turned to him, fixing on a smile while Dorian busied himself with his tea. “I’d be more than happy to beat you in any game you choose, Rylen.”

“I’ll take ye up on that once I’ve had something decent to eat.”

Cullen laughed. He tried to keep his attention on his second in command but his gaze drifted to Kaitlyn after a few brief pleasantries. She smiled when their eyes met. He’d been so busy with new recruits and old reports, and she’d been swamped with invitations and letters and training that they hadn’t been able to talk since the night he’d thrown food all over her floor. Maker, he still couldn’t believe he’d done that.

“Are you well, Commander?” she asked once Rylen had finished talking to Dorian about the new shipment that had arrived.

“Yes,” Cullen said, hardly registering Dorian’s words as the man took up his books and followed after Rylen, taking Felix with him.

Kaitlyn watched them leave before turning back to him. “Might I play another game of chess with you?”

“Of course.” He started to rise but realized the silliness of such an action halfway. Adjusting his chair to cover up the blunder, he watched as she reset the pieces.

“Do you promise not to lose on purpose this time?”

“I won, if I recall correctly.”

Her smile grew. “Do you promise not to _try_ and lose on purpose?”

“I promise.”

She moved closer to the table and so did he. In the last few days, she’d taken to wearing outfits similar to their rangers while she trained. Her cheeks were still dark pink from her exertions, hair carrying a slight curl. It was a good look for her. Comfortable. Free. Her smiles were more genuine now than they’d been before.

“I believe white goes first,” she said.

“That it does.” He went to move a pawn—the same one he’d moved with Dorian—but started with the knight instead.

“I, um.” She licked her lips, hesitating an extra second before moving a pawn. “I heard that one of the healers found an old tea recipe that helps with nightmares; has that been helping or…?”

Cullen rested his chin in his hand, smirking at the way she was avoiding his face. He’d never seen anyone who wore their heart so openly—it made her a wonderfully terrible liar. The fact that none of Skyhold’s healers knew about his decision to stop lyrium made the truth all the more obvious. “Yes. It tastes awful; we could probably give it to prisoners as an interrogation tool, but yes. It helps. How lucky for me that the woman thought I might benefit.”

“I’m glad. That it helps, I mean. You’re very lucky.”

He shifted his hand so it was closer to hers. _Thank you_.

“And your brothers?” he asked. “Have you been able to correspond with them?”

“I sent a letter last week. Haven’t heard back yet.”

“They’ll write.”

Her smile fell away as she stared at the board. “My family isn’t… I suppose I should say: my family _wasn’t_ made of the kindest people. Even if my brothers write to me and want to meet me, I don’t know if…” She finished the rest of the sentence as a grumble under her breath, punctuated by the soft _tick_ of her tower hitting the board.

Watching the emotions play across her face, he hesitated for a second before asking, “Was life with them really that bad?”

“Yes. Many mages describe the Circles as prisons, but mine was a Golden City in comparison to what I’d left behind.” She shook her head, her discomfort growing more obvious as she started to fidget. “What of the templars? I saw Rylen talking to Barris earlier; their rescue attempt seemed to be successful.”

“They were able to find over three dozen templars who’d escaped with leads to find more.”

“That’s wonderful!”

Cullen grinned at her approval. “It is. And they confirmed my suspicions—the templars are being led by Raleigh Samson who seems to have _volunteered_ to work under Corypheus.”

“The same Samson from Kirkwall?”

“I have trouble believing it myself. Samson was not the type of man who would do such a thing. He had his problems with the Order and the Order had its problems with him but he always cared deeply for his men. He was misguided, yes, but he was also a good man at heart. The stories the templars told me—the men were slaughtered like animals if they didn’t take the corrupted lyrium. Some were even tricked into it, poisoned so quickly by the stuff that they’d lost their minds before they’d even had the chance to say no. It doesn’t make sense. What could a monster like Corypheus offer to make him change so?”

Kaitlyn laid her hand on his, her fingers blessedly warm. She frowned slightly at the touch. “Have your hands always been so cold?”

He took his time answering, not wanting to lose the contact with her. Aside from Varric and Rylen and a handful of others, few in the Inquisition ever drew near enough to touch him.

Cullen cleared his throat. “Another lovely symptom of lyrium withdrawal, it seems. The nausea finally stopped but this seems to have taken its place. Sometimes it feels like my hands and feet are freezing off while the rest of my body is burning.”

“Have you spoken to the healers about it yet?”

“No point. I know the cause and there is no treatment.”

“But if the symptoms could be eased, wouldn’t that be worth it?”

He smiled and shook his head. “I told you before—whatever the suffering, I accept it.”

She scowled and he could read the _Well_ I _don’t accept it, Commander_ floating around her head. Not even a month had passed since that heated exchange. And yet, here she was, trying to protect him from himself.

“I’ll start wearing thicker socks to bed,” he said. “Invest in some winter gloves.”

“ _And_ let a healer look at you.”

“I don’t think—”

“I could do it if you don’t want anyone else to know.”

“You?”

She hadn’t pulled her hand away. Why hadn’t she pulled her hand away?

“Why not me? I may not be an expert in lyrium withdrawal, but I know the circulation of the body. I’ve trained in medicinal magicks. I could help.”

“You have a million other things to do with your time.”

“And yet,” she said, “I can spare some to play a game of chess.”

“That’s different. Chess is strategical training. Tending after one man’s cold hands—that hardly registers as a world-shattering crisis.”

Worry pursed her lips as she stared at him.

“You have more important things to take care of, Inquisitor.” He offered a teasing smile and said, “Like what shoes to wear when we meet Empress Celene.”

Kaitlyn rolled her eyes, fingers lingering on his hand an extra heartbeat before she slumped back into her chair. “Leliana insists I wear something with heels so that I can tower over everyone. Not that I don’t hit my head on doorframes enough as it is.”

He laughed deeply, knowing that pain all too well. “Skyhold _was_ designed by the elves.”

“But even the Deep Roads have high ceilings! It’s like the elves specifically wanted to say ‘fuck you’ to the qunari and any humans above average height.”

“You should ask Solas about it. He may have seen something _in his deep journeys into the Fade_.”

They laughed together and Cullen leaned forward across the table. He needed more conversations like this—moments where red templars and dragons and demons were far away, locked into the pages of a book where they could never harm anyone. Moments where it was just the two of them, without the titles or madness wearing them down like a grindstone.

“I can’t remember whose turn it is,” she said after her laughter had settled into her smile.

Cullen had forgotten the game. “I can’t remember either.”

“Does this mean it’s a draw?”

“It means that we’ll have to restart a—”

“Inquisitor!”

Ah yes, there it was: the inevitable interruption. If he wanted more than five minutes of time with her to himself, they would probably have to leave Skyhold altogether. Not a wholly bad idea, considering.

“What is it?” Kaitlyn asked the scout as she approached—the blonde, brown-eyed woman again. Why could he never remember her name?

“There’s an unexpected party at the gate, your, uh, Inquisitorialness.” The scout made a slight curtsy, eyes shifting to Cullen as her cheeks deepened to a rich red. “They said that the Lady-Warden sent for them but she’s down in the forward camps with Ser-Warden and they won’t tell me their names and I couldn’t find Mistress Leliana anywhere and I knew you were here and—”

“Yes, I understand.” Kaitlyn thanked the woman before getting to her feet. She turned to him, “Would you care to come with me, Commander?”

“I’d like that.”

He followed by her side, intensely aware of the way their hands kept brushing against each other and how she made no effort to shift farther away. When they drew close to the portcullis, he took point, hand resting idly on the hilt of his blade. Eight figures stood on the other side—two decidedly shorter than the rest, two with staffs in their hands, a few more with large weapons strapped across their backs—the lot of them wearing cloaks with the hoods pulled up. All save for one who—

“What in the Maker’s name?” Cullen pressed himself up against the gate, unable to believe his eyes.

The golem turned with a faint scraping side. Crystals embedded along its surfaced pulsed in time with its movements as it stepped forward.

“Why does it seem familiar?” the golem asked. “I remember a little human with its face; it used to feed the birds around me until they started to nest, nasty little thing.”

“You’re not—” Cullen sputtered. “You can’t be!”

“Cullen?” Kaitlyn asked.

“It’s—it’s—” What could he even say? That the golem—the _statue_ —which had been part of his childhood was now suddenly alive?

“ _She_ ,” one of the hooded figures said with an Antivan accent, “is named Shale, and we are all going to be the very best of friends, no?”

“No,” Shale and Cullen said in unison.

Kaitlyn stepped forward, shifting her left hand enough so that the mark would be seen by all. “I understand you’re friends with the Warden-Commander, and I apologize for any offense, but I’d appreciate seeing your faces before letting you all inside.”

Cullen slipped his sword out an inch or so from the scabbard as the hoods turned to one another.

“I suppose,” said the same Antivan voice, “that if there are to be introductions that the best should start.” With a sweeping bow, the hood slipped off to reveal long blond hair set again soft brown skin. The elven man had tattoos along the right side of his face. “Zevran Arainai, at your most illustrious service. My fine statuesque friend here is the only non-Warden besides myself. And may I say, Kaitlyn Trevelyan, that the growing tales of your courage, wit, and beauty all pale before your feet.”

A frown slowly formed on Kaitlyn’s face as confusion settled behind her eyes. She stared at him. He smiled back. She faltered and color began to bloom throughout her cheeks. Her posture, which had been firm a moment before, cracked as Kaitlyn glanced down at her feet before trying and failing to recompose herself into the firm leader she’d presented at the start.

“Heh heh. You haven’t changed a bit.” Another hood went down. A dwarf with near-orange hair and a forge hammer nearly the same size as him grinned up at Skyhold. “For being so high up in the mountains, this place ain’t half bad. Could use a bit less of the fresh air though.”

“I like it!” A female dwarf with tattoos across most of her face grinned up at the parapets. “Do you _smell_ that? It’s like winter and spring and summer all rolled into one—I bet the dirt here smells even better than old leaves and sunshine.”

“ _Again_ with the dirt.” An elven woman with a Vallaslin Cullen had never seen before narrowed her eyes at several of the construction workers. “At least you’re rebuilding the place instead of tearing it down. That’s an unexpected change.”

The human man beside her leaned into her ear, whispering something that made her laugh. He didn’t smile himself, his face cut in harsh angles not well adapted for laughter.

“Carver!” Cullen said when he saw the youngest Hawke take back his hood. “It’s good to see you well. Your sister is here; she'll want to know you arrived safely.”

“Is she with Fenris?”

“Yes.”

“And Malcolm?”

Cullen frowned. “Who?”

“Never mind.” Carver waved an absent hand. “May we come in now, Inquisitor?”

Kaitlyn’s eyes went to the final guest who had yet to pull down their hood. The staff they held was made of plain wood topped with a pale blue crystal that glowed in a pattern similar to the crystals adorning Shale. Despite the person’s height, they kept their hood down low enough so only the tip of their chin peeked out. Gloves covered their hands. Their clothes were plain and modest black. Cullen would’ve dismissed them out of hand if not for the small cat perched on their shoulder which was little more than an orange puffball.

Kaitlyn turned to Cullen with an eyebrow raised. He nodded.

“Raise the gates,” Kaitlyn called before stepping to the side with Cullen. There was a slight tremor to her hands as the Wardens—plus Zevran and Shale—filed into Skyhold’s courtyard. Cullen took her fingers into his, offering a smile. It would’ve been better if his skin wasn’t like ice, but she squeezed his hand all the same, sending an unexpected shock of butterflies coursing through him.

“Yet more people far better qualified than me for the role of Inquisitor,” she muttered softly enough that he barely caught the words.

“Give them time,” Cullen said. “I doubt you’ll still feel that way once you get to know them.”

“You’ve met them before?”

“No. But there’s one single truth I’ve found in this world—no one _really_ ever knows what they’re doing.”


	22. He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

Kaitlyn stood to the side, feeling more and more the intruder as Asalla and Alistair came running up from the base camps. Asalla grinned as she clasped arms with the newcomers, lingering an extra moment on the hooded figure before Zevran swept her off her feet in a tight hug that made her laugh. Kaitlyn glanced to Alistair who was smiling fondly at the pair as Asalla clung to Zevran. Alistair did not greet the new Wardens in the same way Asalla had, but there was a nod of acknowledgement between him and Carver. And once Zevran released Asalla, he came over to give Alistair the same treatment which ended with Alistair somewhat awkwardly patting Zevran’s back.

Carver.

Kaitlyn called to a nearby scout, telling him to inform Mai that her brother had arrived. She’d likely already heard—in the few moments since the strangers had first arrived at the gates, a crowd had been ever growing—but Mai needed to know her brother was here either way. Even Fiona came from the mage tower to watch the Wardens. There was an old longing in her eyes. Pain mixed with hope. But she stayed where she was, fingers tight around her staff.

“Solas isn’t going to be happy about having so many Wardens around,” Kaitlyn muttered.

“Perhaps not,” Cullen said. He was still holding her hand. “Or, maybe he’ll see that there _are_ Wardens who will resist Corypheus. Maybe this will convince him that there is still goodness in their cause.”

She smiled. “That’d be a nice change.” If the Inquisition could make it a week without infighting, she’d march naked into Val Royeaux, singing about how Ferelden was the best kingdom in all of Thedas. Well, maybe not that, exactly. But something close.

“What was that with Shale?” she asked Cullen.

“What?”

“You were… I don’t know. Surprised? Shocked?”

“I promise to tell you the whole story later,” he said. “For now, might we leave? I think it’s staring at me.”

 _We_.

She bit her lip to keep her smile from growing at his casual use of the term. It meant nothing, of course. In the same way that his hand wrapped around her own meant nothing. Or how the quickening of her heart meant nothing.

“Inquisitor?” he asked.

“I—forgive me, I was caught up in a thought. We should return to our tournament; who knows when we’ll be able to sit down and relax like this again.”

“About that—” He started up the stairs with her. Maker, he was _still_ holding her hand. Was his thumb running along her skin or was that her imagination? “Several of the soldiers asked me to join them in a game of Wicked Grace tonight. I’m sure they’d love it for you to join.”

“I don’t know… I wouldn’t want to presume. Most of the people aren’t very comfortable around me for one reason or another—that whole Inquisitor thing, I think. It’s probably best that I don’t go. I wouldn’t want to ruin the mood”

“Please?” He paused on the steps, staring at her. “ _I’m_ inviting you to join tonight. You should be able to have fun every now and then.”

“I’m having fun now.”

Cullen’s expression softened. “As am—Andraste’s tits!”

He stumbled backwards—teetering for a moment on the edge of the steps—as Mai sprinted down the stairs. Carver barely had time to turn to her before her arms went flying out towards his neck. As Mai was quite a bit shorter than her brother, the tips of her toes scraped along the ground as she clung to him, making his cheeks red as he turned away from the other Wardens. They jeered and cheered him in equal measure which only intensified the color of his face. Mai didn’t even seem to notice the others.

“Apologies,” Fenris told Cullen as he came to stand with them. “She’s been waiting for months to hear from him. She’d begun to suspect the worst.”

“That he’d experienced his Calling?” Kaitlyn asked.

Fenris nodded. “Carver has kept most of the Wardens’ secrets from Mai, but not that one. Once, he even tried to tease her about it—that she wasn’t allowed to make fun of him anymore because he would die first out of the two of them. Never seen anyone try to take back their words as quickly as he Carver.” Fenris frowned at the group of newcomers, eyes narrowing at the one whose hood continued to obscure their face. A second later, he shook his head slightly and continued down the steps after Mai.

“Are you all right, Cullen?”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “We need to put railing on their bloody stairs before someone falls off.”

“I’ll add it to the list.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a brief smile. In Mai’s passing, their hands had separated. Her fingers twitched, missing the warmth and roughness of his skin. She stepped closer, reaching out for him—he turned, using the hand she’d been aiming for to usher her forward.

“After you,” he said.

Kaitlyn forced a polite smile, her usual uncertainty falling back into place as they walked side-by-side. Separately.

“So you’ll come?” he asked, the silence feeling more oppressive than comfortable. “Tonight? To the game?”

“I’ve never actually played Wicked Grace before. Josephine won’t be pleased if I ended up gambling away the Inquisition’s funds.”

“Most of the men send their wages home so we play for favors instead—the best shifts, leftover food from dinner, and the like. For you, it might be a personal letter to a soldier’s family, or picking what rations the soldiers get for the next week. I promise I won’t let any of them take advantage of you.”

“A tempting offer.” She settled back into her seat in the garden, trying to casually place her hand closer to his side of the table. “But if you’re watching my back, how will you protect your own assets?”

“Come tonight and find out.” His fingers came dangerously close to touching hers. “Please?”

“I…” The way he looked at her, the way she felt when she was near him—it _couldn’t_ mean nothing… right? “I’ll be there.”

 

* * *

 

Kaitlyn ran her comb through her hair. Then combed it again. And again. While her hair had grown since the Conclave, it still barely reached past her chin, limiting her options of styling to ‘slight curl’ or ‘slighter but still existent curl.’ Setting the comb aside, she picked through the pieces of jewelry Josephine and Vivienne had given her for dignitary dinners before pulling out a simple gold chain with a polished stone. Adding a touch of color to her cheeks and lips, she inspected herself for the dozenth time. The dress she’d chosen was dark brown and tailored to her figure, cut to make her look both modest and elegant.

She fiddled with the neck and sleeves as she walked down the steps to the main hall, the butterflies in her stomach growing with each passing second. Ducking through passageways to reach the battlements, she took the long way around to avoid being stopped by a scout or a report or a visiting guest. Once clear of the rotating guard, she broke into a soft run until she reached the upper tavern door.

Cole looked up at her when she stepped inside. Instead of his usual corner, he sat on the edge of the floor, legs between the banisters, as he peered down to the level below where Cullen sat with a handful of Inquisition’s soldiers.

“How long have they been playing?” she asked as she stepped up to the railing.

“Not very long, but Cullen will soon lose.”

“You can see their cards?”

Cole shook his head. “They gave her the best cards—she won’t even have to cheat.”

“Who?”

He pointed to the woman on Cullen’s left. Long blonde hair framed a warm and youthful face. Her dark eyes ignored the game, preferring to watch Cullen while he drew a card. She smiled when he did, a soft pink to her cheeks when she bit her lip.

“Breaking, bursting, bubbling over,” Cole said. “Heart hurts. He makes me so _happy_. Tonight. Tonight, everything will change.”

“But he’s not—” Kaitlyn sputtered, not sure what she was trying to say. “Cullen’s not—he isn’t…”

It wasn’t true.

She bit her lip, watching more intently as the game progressed. They weren’t a couple. Cullen would’ve mentioned it—Kaitlyn would’ve seen it. They weren’t a couple. They couldn’t be. They _couldn’t_ be.  

_… Please don’t let them be a couple._

She kept the thought tucked to herself, grateful that Cole couldn’t read her emotions like he did the others. Her fingernails dug into the wooden railing as her teeth dug into her lower lip. The soldiers were laughing. Cullen’s cheeks went pink as he set down his hand to hollering cheers.

“Another defeat for the Commander!” she heard above the noise of the other patrons.

Cullen laughed and drunk from the tankard in front of him. He turned to the blonde woman who leaned over to whisper in his ear. His face darkened to red. He moved closer to her, lips near her ear, hand resting on her forearm. Another whispered exchange before he pulled back. More cheering. Cullen said something that made them laugh harder. He lifted his hand off her arm only to place it on her cheek. She smiled. He leaned in, tilting his head.

Kaitlyn closed her eyes before their lips met. A roar of clapping and laughter broke out from below. She counted to three, then opened her eyes. They were still kissing.

_Fuck._

Months she’d known him and she’d never taken ten seconds to ask if he was with someone. One simple question. Maker preserve her—this was Andrew all over again. She’d mistaken kindness for affection and camaraderie for interest. Foolishness. Absolute foolishness.

Cole grabbed her wrist when she turned to leave.

“You’re sad,” he said.

“No, I’m not.” She didn’t look at him, afraid he’d see the truth. “I’m happy. Cullen should be with someone who cares for him.”

“ _You_ care for him.”

“Not like that.”

He paused, then said, “ _I_ care for him.”

She laughed. A weak, pathetic laugh that was limping its way to being a whimper, but a laugh all the same. “Yes, you do.”

Cole’s hat flopped out of his face as he tilted his neck back to look at her. She watched him from the corner of her eye. He didn’t say the words but she recognized the expression— _I can make you forget_.

“Good night, Cole,” Kaitlyn said, gently pulling her arm away.

She left the tavern and took to pacing the battlements until the last of the sun dipped behind the mountains. Taking one of the torches set into the ramparts, she walked to Cullen’s tower and lit the dozen or so candles around his desk and bookshelves before setting the torch into a sconce. It was a day too late, but she would ask Cullen anyway: are you with someone?

The kiss might be nothing. A lost bet. A fleeting impulse. Or, there’d been dozens of kisses and she’d been too caught up in her own life to even notice what was happening with his. She hadn’t noticed his lyrium withdrawal either.

Groaning in frustration, Kaitlyn tried to keep her mind distracted by looking through his book titles. Almanacs, books on strategy and politics and dog breeding, adventure novels, a handful of romances, and titles in languages she didn’t know. She picked one up, flipped through a few pages, then set it back. She went to his desk next, looking over the reports he’d been reading without really seeing any of it. The globe he kept which had several large question marks drawn in. His—

Kaitlyn stopped and moved closer to the shelf where several balls of red and gold knitting thread were stashed alongside the fur trim she recognized from his old, burnt mantle. Taking out the fur—it still smelled faintly of oak moss—several pieces of cloth fell out with it.

Kaitlyn couldn’t help the _aww_ that escaped her at the sight of the tiny baby socks. Roughly stitched miniature mabari guarded the top of each foot. She took one into her hands, turning it this way and that. The craftsmanship was clumsy in several areas, but the stitch was steady and well-made. Beside the other sock was a small blanket trimmed with the red and black fur. She turned it over. _Rutherford_ was embroidered in gold along the bottom—Cullen had left enough room to add a first name above it.

She didn’t belong here.

Gathering up the materials, Kaitlyn’s heart skipped when she heard the latch lifting. Scrambling to stuff everything back into place, she jumped away from the bookcase when the door opened.

“Inquisitor!” The young soldier who’d kissed Cullen earlier made an awkward curtsey. In place of the uniform she’d worn earlier was a simple robe—a robe that fluttered in the breeze, revealing that she wore nothing underneath. “Forgive me. I saw the lights and I thought—I didn’t know you had a meeting with Cullen tonight.”

“I don’t.” Kaitlyn licked her lips. She tried not to, but her eyes darted down towards the woman’s stomach. “ _I’m_ the intruder here, um… I don’t know your name.”

“Cassandra, Your Worship.” She curtsied again, her hands clutching at the front of her robes to keep them shut.

“Really?”

Cassandra smiled. “Yes, though most people use my family name, Tavell. After I received a shipment of Lady Pentaghast’s novels by mistake, well… You can call me whatever you like, of course. Your Worship.”

“There’s no need for that,” Kaitlyn said when she curtsied a third time. “Cassandra, you and the Commander, you’re…”

“Yes?”

“Nothing. I thought—nothing. Congratulations, Cassandra, on… um.” She blanched. In the Circle, she’d only known two mages who were pregnant. One tried and failed to escape multiple times. The other barely acknowledged she was ever with child. What was it like for everyone else? Was Kaitlyn supposed to reveal that she knew? Would it be considered improper for her to discuss it?

“Um.” Kaitlyn backed away as she spoke. She hissed when her elbow bumped into something sharp. “Just… good job. On whatever you’re doing.”

“Thank you, Your Worship.” Cassandra stepped into the room and shut the door behind her, obviously intent on staying.

Kaitlyn lingered another moment, almost daring to wait and ask Cullen anyway. Which wasn’t petty at all. Or vindictive. Or awkward in the extreme. Scraping together a small nod, Kaitlyn left the room and returned to meandering across the battlements.

It was better this way. Mage and templar. Maybe if they’d been two different people, things would’ve worked, but both she and Cullen had been scarred by the ancient animosity between the two factions. They’d both been hurt and betrayed—damaged in ways that ran far deeper than skin.

Kaitlyn stopped in front of the door to her room where Asalla and Mai were standing. Kaitlyn straightened in their presence, part of her worrying her distress was visible on her face.

“Can I help you two?”

Asalla glanced to Mai. They shared a grave look before Mai nodded. Asalla took a step closer to Kaitlyn, a flicker of fear in her eyes. “We need to talk.”


	23. Partings are not Sweet Sorrow

Cullen stared up at the hole in his ceiling while he watched the sky turn from dull grey to dull blue. He rubbed at his eyes, trying and failing to find sleep. Glancing to the empty space beside him, he wondered if he should’ve accepted Tavell’s offer after all. To hold a woman close. To feel the heartbeat of a lover against his chest while lips slipped along warm skin. To relax in another’s arms in dim candlelight and feel safe there until the next day came.   _Maker_ , but he missed all of that. He longed for it. _Ached_ for it, even.

And Kaitlyn hadn’t come.

With a groan, Cullen forced himself to sit up, mentally preparing for the day ahead of him. He’d almost disentangled himself from his blankets when a faint creaking caught his attention. The soft tread of boots on stone crept along beneath him in the direction of his desk. Cullen scoffed. Scouts had tried to change the roster before—moving their names to better shift positions. Apparently, they hadn’t learned their lesson.

Dragging his feet along the boards to keep their groans silent so they wouldn’t give him away, Cullen took his pitcher—water sloshed around inside—and made his way over to the railing. He stood there, pitcher dangling over the side, waiting for the intruder’s head to come into view.

Cullen dumped the entirety of the water onto the scout’s brown hair the instant he saw the scout’s uniform. They shrieked and sputtered. A faint barrier formed around them as they whipped about before finally turning to look up at him.

_Oh, Fuck._

“Kaitlyn!” Cullen yelled as he tossed the pitcher aside and scrambled for the ladder. He missed one of the rungs halfway and barely caught himself before he smashed into the floor. He shook out his hurt wrist for a moment, cheeks burning as he came up to her. “I am _so_ sorry, Inquisitor, I didn’t think you—I never would’ve—forgive me.”

He grabbed his jacket, which had been on the back of his chair, and used it to blot at her hair and shoulders.

“I’m not hurt.” She smiled, but pulled away when he tried to keep drying her. Her eyes flicked up to his loft before settling back onto his face. “I should’ve knocked, but I didn’t want to, uh, wake you up or anything.”

“No, I should’ve known better. I thought you were trying to change the duty roster, but I didn’t even think to make sure of who you were before…” He groaned and ran a hand through his hair as mortification settled in, making his face feel freshly baked. “I am _so_ incredibly sorry, I—”

“It’s all right, Cullen.” Her voice was gentle and reassuring but a sadness lingered in her eyes even as her smile broadened.

“I’ll fetch you a change of clothes.”

“There’s no time for that.”

He stopped, half-turned. “What do you mean?”

Kaitlyn walked to the desk and picked up a letter that hadn’t been there the night before. Droplets of water had splashed onto the surface and she shook them off absently. “I suppose I don’t need to give you this anymore.” Another sad smile. “I wanted to let you know that I’m… I’m leaving again. For longer than usual, this time.”

“Where?”

“Val Royeaux first. Alexius came forward with information about a woman called Calpernia—it seems she’s another general in Corypheus’ army and a few of Leliana’s spies have already found leads to her location. After that, I’m continuing with Hawke and the Wardens to the Western Approach.”

“That’s nearly a month’s ride from here.”

“I know.” She shifted in place, fingers tight around the letter.

“Can’t it wait? Celene’s ball is only three months away.”

“That’s why I have to go now. In fact, I probably should’ve left the moment the Wardens arrived.” She moved a half-step closer to him. The water had added a slight curl to her dark hair. It looked beautiful. “If we wait any longer, then I won’t be able to join you at the Winter Palace in time.”

“Join us? So… you’ll be gone for the entire three months?”

“Yes. And even if I do finish early, I’ll be attending to business in Val Royeaux before you and the others arrive.”

“That’s too long. There has to be some other way than you simply _leaving_ like this. You’re the Inquisitor. You have duties and—and obligations here at Skyhold.”

“That’s what my advisors are for, right? Keeping everything in line while I’m away?”

He scowled. Not at her but at the situation. “Can’t this wait?”

“If we hold off any longer, I won’t be able to get there until after Celene’s ball. By then, we’ll probably be too late to do anything of use.”

“Then let them go without you.”

“I’m the only one who can close the rifts. _And_ I’m the only one who speaks with the full authority of the Inquisition.”

“But they can take care of the rest without you. Go later and seal the rifts then. Treaties and pacts can wait for later.”

“You know I can’t do that,” she said. “Demons will just keep pouring out in the meantime. Do you really want to let four months’ worth of extra demons pile up out there? That could end up being the very demon army the Wardens turn around and use.”

Cullen ground his teeth together. “…No. I suppose I don’t think you should wait either. But it doesn’t feel right. Who else is going with you?”

“I told you: Hawke and the Wardens. And Fenris, of course.”

“And?”

“Zevran and Shale are both staying here.”

“But what about the Inquisition?” he asked. “Which of _our_ people are going with you?”

Kaitlyn shook her head again, staring down at the letter in her hands. She muttered something under her breath.

“Kaitlyn?”

“None.”

“ _What?_ ”

“They all have their own lives. I can’t ask them to just drop everything for three months and come with me. Varric’s got his books and his dealings with the Carta—if he goes silent for three months, we may lose part of our lyrium supple. Vivienne’s helping make connections within the Orlesian court _and_ what remains of the Circles. Cassandra has business with the Seekers—”

“There must be someone,” he said. “Blackwall. Or Cole. Cole wouldn’t have anything else to do.”

“Blackwall said that if we have Warden-Commander Surana on our side that it’s more important for him to find more recruits. And Cole is having a hard time around a—” She stopped suddenly, eyes widening a fraction.

“What?” he asked.

She bit her lip. “One of the Wardens, he… Cole can’t be around him very long. The one who kept their hood down? They’re… different. I don’t think a three month trip together would be a good idea for either of them.”

“Then leave the Warden behind.” He set his jacket aside and stepped up to her. “You need someone loyal to you if you’re going to be gone that long.”

“Loyal to me?” Though her tone was playful, he caught the slight tremor in her voice. “You make it sound so serious.”

“Hawke and Surana are good people. I know they’ll help you in any way they can, but their loyalty is not to you or the Inquisition. Surana’s is to Alistair and the Wardens as Hawke’s is to Fenris and her brother. If the choice comes down to you or them, they’re not going to pick you. Please.” He hesitated before putting his hand on her shoulder. The coat was damp from the water he’d spilled on her. “ _Please_ , Kate. Take someone. Anyone. What of Dorian? I know you two are close.”

“He’s nursing Felix at the moment. I can’t tear the two of them apart.”

“Has Felix fallen that ill?”

“No, thank the Maker. Asalla let him become a Warden last night. Whatever that entailed left Felix weak but healthy. I think if I ordered Dorian to come with me, he’d quit the Inquisition altogether to stay with Felix instead.” Her fingers tightened again until the letter crumpled beneath her hands. She stared at him silently for a while before saying, “Rylen. I’ll take Captain Rylen and a handful of volunteers.”

“Thank you.”

Another smile and she slipped out of reach. She turned and walked to the door. Her hand reached the latch when she stopped. The air tensed around her and he didn’t dare do anything but breathe as he waited for her to move. Ten heartbeats. Twenty. The seconds seemed to stretch on for an eternity.

“Cullen.”

“Yes?”

With a light push, she abandoned the door and turned to him. In the space of a single step, she was in front of him, arms around his waist, head tucked beneath his chin. She held him tight. He stiffened in response before, slowly, his arms moved to embrace her. Despite being near himself in height, she’d lowered herself enough to let him rest his head on hers.

“Take care of yourself,” she said, words muffled against his chest. “And don’t give up. I know you can make it through this.”

He pulled her closer. He was going to miss the scent of her hair. “Don’t go.”

“You know I have to.”

“I do, but… don’t go.” He sighed, not daring to hold her tighter for fear of hurting her. “You’re pushing yourself too hard again.”

Soft laughter. “Are you saying that I’m going to _fade out_?”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Varric.” He smiled when her laughter deepened, but the brevity didn’t change the facts—she’d already suffered injuries at Corypheus’ hand, and they would be far from the last she suffered. He wanted to keep that from her for as long as he could. He wanted to protect her. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he still saw her limp on the cot, body dark with bruises and frostnip.

She stayed in his arms for a time, both of them holding to the other. Three months. The mere thought of it made him ache. It would be well into spring before she set foot in Skyhold again. Before they played another game of chess.

“I need to go,” she said at last.

“May I come down with you?”

“… If you want.”

Cullen stayed close to her side. Unlike the day before, her hand did not brush against his, nor did their fingers interlock. Throwing cold water on her head at the crack of dawn wasn’t the _best_ thing he could’ve done to her that morning.

“Can I ask you something?” he said as they made their way towards the stairs.

“Of course.”

“Why didn’t you come? To the party last night, I mean. I went to check on you afterwards to see if you were all right, but you weren’t in your room.”

She paused on the steps and looked at him. He stopped as well, staring back at her; he couldn’t read her expression.

“I…” she trailed off, fingers continuing to wring the letter. It was little more than scrap paper now. “I _did_ go, actually. But the, um, the table looked full and I didn’t want to be a bother. Thank you for coming to check on me though—we must’ve just missed one another.”

“You’re not a bother, Kaitlyn. Not to anyone here.”

“If you believe that, you’re not paying enough attention to the way some of the people here look at me.”

“Like who?”

She shook her head. “That’s not important. I really should go. I’ve delayed too long already. Will you ask Rylen to meet us in Val Royeaux? I don’t think I have the time to explain everything.”

“I will,” he promised. She thanked him and continued down the stairs. “And Kaitlyn!”

She stopped at the bottom before turning to him.

“Be safe.”

“I will be. I promise.”

He watched her cross the courtyard to the waiting horses.

 _Say goodbye_. His throat tightened as he watched her mount her mare. Alistair leaned over to her, touching her shoulder and laughing—presumably at her wet clothes. _Say goodbye. Now!_

“Kate…” The word left him too quietly. She was at the gate now, talking with Hawke. “Kate!”

She didn’t turn as the portcullis lifted, letting them press on through. Cullen ran to the part of the battlements that overlooked the bridge. Kaitlyn led the group through as the group quickly sped into a trot. He called to her. The beating of hooves drowned out the sound. He gripped the stone, watching as she left.

Three months. Maker’s breath, he wouldn’t see her again for three months and he’s wasted their time on such a stupid question. Letters were never the same. They couldn’t show him her smile or give him the warmth of her hand. They couldn’t ease his headaches with soft fingers or give him the strength of knowing she was near.

“Maker be with you, Kaitlyn,” he said to the morning winds. He kept his eyes trained on her, not wanting to turn away until she was truly gone. The party was almost to the mountains now. He could barely distinguish her from the others. He leaned forward, wanting to make the last seconds linger. And then, at the mountain pass, she stopped, let the others carry on ahead, and looked back to him.


	24. Separate but not Apart

Affection, adoration, and romantic interest were not things Kaitlyn was familiar with. Not on a personal basis. She’d read of the ideals, seen them unfold in others, had heard descriptions told by the smitten and the lovesick, but she’d never truly known them for herself. Not until now.

Not that it mattered. Cullen was back at Skyhold with a child on the way. And even if he weren’t, three months was a long time for a man like Cullen Rutherford to remain single. There were probably a dozen others like Kaitlyn, softly pining away for the Commander. Maker, what a fool she’d been to think, even for a second, that something might’ve developed between them. Forget mage and templar, she was inexperienced to the point of naïveté. Holding hands with Cullen for a few moments after their game of chess had been the pinnacle of her romantic life. Nearing thirty and not even knowing what a kiss felt like—having a mage smash his mouth against hers when he’d been drunk didn’t count—she almost wanted to laugh at herself.

In her Circle, physical intimacies had been open and commonplace. While most mages tried to avoid templar eyes, there was little to no hesitation about being seen by other mages. Kaitlyn had avoided their displays whenever possible, retreating to the library or dining hall to escape the noises and smells and moving bodies that left her feeling more disgust than desire. After several years of refusing offers and invitations, they’d finally stopped asking. Most stopped talking to her altogether.

By contrast, loving gazes and holding hands and softer familiarities were carefully guarded and quickly hidden. Romantic affairs could carry on for years without being discovered. Several of the older enchanters even offered sanctuary in their private offices as they were the only doors where mages had control of the lock.

Here—watching the various couples around the campfire—it was the opposite. Affection flowed between them, each in a different way.

Alistair was the most open. He often kissed Asalla’s cheeks or temples, his arms wrapped around her. Whenever things grew still within the group, he would take to whispering in her ear or tracing patterns down her neck and arms with slender, careful fingers. It wasn’t until the third of fourth time he’d traced over the same spot that Kaitlyn realized the pattern was not a random one. The Blight had already started to corrupt Asalla. The black marks, the first sign of the sickness, already spread up towards her chin and down to her wrists. The streaks of black blended almost perfectly with her skin so that even when she sat right beside the fire, Kaitlyn could only see the marks because of Alistair’s fingers. Asalla showed no other signs—she didn’t walk hunch-backed nor did she have a milky covering over her eyes—but it didn’t matter. The Blight would claim her soon enough. Perhaps that was the very reason why Alistair showed his love so freely: he knew their time was running out. And he did show it freely. He spoke of his love for her without hesitation, saying the words over and over again throughout the day along with more kisses and brushes of his hand against her cheek. _Beautiful. My love. My heart. My dearest one_.

As for Asalla, she’d changed even within the short time Kaitlyn had been a companion to her. When the pair had first come to Skyhold with Kaitlyn and the rest, Asalla had taken in Alistair’s affections like a great sponge, smiling softly at every soft brush of hands or stolen kiss, but generally pulling him into the privacy of shadows before she’d lean up onto the tips of her toes to show her admiration in return. Now, it was as though she were wringing the sponge dry. She kissed Alistair long and hard, a hand on his neck to make their contact last whenever he was near. The other Wardens would tease and laugh and she’d grin through it all, never taking her eyes off Alistair. And then there was the Warden stamina. Earlier that very morning, the entire party had been woken up by their extremely long and extremely vocal demonstrations.

Fenris was subtler than the Wardens. While he and Mai often held hands, he didn’t seem to care for other physical proofs of affection. He’d only kissed Mai’s cheek two, maybe three, times since their departure from Skyhold. But the way Fenris _looked_ at her—his eyes brimmed with adoration whenever she was near. When apart, he would constantly glance around to the various exits, his ears twitching in time with the sounds of the environment, his tensions only calming when Mai was in sight again. Even more than that, he went out of his way to secure Mai’s comfort: the best horse and saddle the stables could supple, the best room and food and drink at every inn they stayed in. He offered all he had and more to Mai freely, always with soft eyes and the ghost of a smile on his lips. He would’ve waited out in the rain all night if it meant she could be warm and safe.

Mai was similarly restrained in overt kisses or touching, but it seemed more for Fenris’ sake rather than her own desire. More than once, she leaned in as if to kiss him, paused, then settled her head on his shoulder instead. In the rare moments they did touch in front of the others, her eyes would close, lips slightly parting while the rest of her went still; she always let him make the first move, always let him be in control. And in the odd hours, when the rest of the world lingered in their Faded dreams, she was awake. Kaitlyn had seen her once, sharpening Fenris’ blade before setting it back in the scabbard and slipping inside her tent, leaving no evidence of what she’d done.

For Nathaniel and Velanna, it was a rare day when Nathaniel didn’t lean over to whisper something that made Velanna laugh. Rarer still was it for Velanna not to pluck an apple or pear from a tree, her magic turning the humble fruit into kingly offering. She always gave it to him with a smile as he called her ‘my lady’ and gave her a gracious bow that turned her cheeks pink.

Sigrun was optimism itself, always ready and willing to lend her shoulder to anyone who needed it. Oghren included those around him in a similar way though he included more ale and off-colored jokes than anyone else. Even Anders—who kept himself apart from the group in every possible way—cared deeply for the cat that rode upon his shoulder; he fed the small creature, talked to it, always ensuring it was happy and dry when it curled up against his side at night. And Asalla loved her Wardens fiercely. Just as Mai loved her brother fiercely.

And Kaitlyn watched them all. She wasn’t sure why. Not really. Her observations only made her realize the deep lack of such people in her own life. Watching them forced her to rethink her childhood in an even darker light. Watching them showed her the impossibility of being with Cullen, which, in turn, made the ache in her chest deepen in equal measure. And still, she watched. Perhaps, one day, when she was free of the Inquisition, she could find someone who would hold her the same way Alistair held Asalla and who looked at her the same way Fenris looked at Mai. With her luck, it’d be another templar.

With a sigh, Kaitlyn turned to her satchel where her private items were kept and pulling out the most recent letter from the Commander. She smiled. It’d only been a few weeks since she’d left, but they already had a half dozen letters between them. The first one from him had been a short _Are you well?_ but the one she held now was a good five inches long. He spoke mostly of Skyhold—the plotting of Leliana and Zevran, his militant avoidance of Shale, how he’d sent a score of men along with Rylen to assist in taming the Western Approach, and other such matters.

Reading the words over again, she tried to imagine him reading it out to her. She missed talking to him. Hearing his voice. Seeing the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Fuck. The next two and a half months was going to be an eternity. Shaking her head lightly, she turned to tuck the letter away and paused. Lyrium vials glowed faintly. She picked one up, rotating it in her fingers. She felt, rather than heard, the song it gave off. The tune flowed into her, whispering of things she didn’t understand. The same tune that tormented Cullen’s dreams and tore into flesh.

Kaitlyn looked around the campfire again, at those who sacrificed and protected the ones they loved most, then back to the innocent little vial. She set it down on the ground and pulled out the other bottles as well until she’d emptied her satchel of the stuff. If Cullen would no longer take lyrium, then neither would she.

 

* * *

 

Cullen set down his last report of the night and glared at the parchment. Before, he’d wanted nothing but a day or two freedom from such busywork. Now, now he longed to have more. Anything to keep him distracted. Skyhold had no shortage of guests and gawkers but the place felt empty. Kaitlyn had been right. No sooner had she left than Varric, Cassandra, The Iron Bull, Sera, and Vivienne had all departed on missions of their own. Even Blackwall was heading out in the next few days. Dorian only stayed because Felix was here—the new Warden was nearly through his recovery but that didn’t stop Dorian from fussing over him with every wince or sneeze. Solas and Cole kept to themselves, the pair of them speaking about things that sounded as foreign as Qunari.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he settled back into his chair and let out a deep breath, staring up at the crumbled ceiling of his room. Skyhold was getting colder too. Or maybe that was just him. His left hand had started trembling the week before. He’d kept it hidden so far, but someone was bound to notice eventually. Fear kept him from confiding in Cassandra or one of the healers: what if they sent him home if more symptoms appeared?

He dismissed the thought, not wanting to contemplate a life where he was stripped of the only things he’d ever known. Mia would take him in if he asked, of course, but what would he _do_?

“Maker damn this infernal waiting!” He turned his chair around and snatched the baby blanket he’d been knitting for Branson’s child. The stich had remained steady despite the tremor in his hands and he’d relished being able to create something for a change. He’d even added embellishment to the blanket—a mabari to match the ones he’d put on the socks, but far larger and more detailed. A Fereldan child deserved no less.

He took out the needles, preparing to busy himself for the night, and stopped. He flipped the blanket over. Then flipped it over again. There was nothing left to be done. Any more detail and the ostentation of the thing would be damn-near Orlesian. He sighed and set the project aside only to take out another sheet of parchment. He licked his lips, gathering his thoughts, before he began to write.

 

_To my loving sister, Mia (Yes, I see how easy it is. Stop pointing it out every time) –_

_Mage to F5. Check._

_Yes, I’ve been remembering to wear layers while in the mountains. I even have a fine new coat. When I see you again, you might mistake me for a knight. A proper one. Sword and all._

_How are things progressing in South Reach? Our main forces only stretch as far as the Hinterlands so there’s been little to no news of the area other than what you’ve told me; the soldiers there think only of writing to their families, not reporting to us. I know Rosalie has made an arrangement with the scouts nearby and I’m glad she’s found it agreeable so far. They’ll keep her and her crops safe. And if bandits continue to be a problem in the area, I will take up the matter personally. No matter what happens, you’ll all be protected. You have my word on it._

_All the same, please tell Rosalie to hold off on healing any cuts or bruises for the next few months. I know she means well, but tensions between mages and templars are still high. I think she might actually listen if the words were to come from you instead of me._

_I made a gift for Emily and Branson: a blanket and a pair of socks for their child. I’m told the stitching is quite good but I would take no offense if you felt the need to reinforce it. I left a space open for the given name to be added later once they decide. I hope I can entrust you to fill it in for me as I still don’t know when I’ll be able to visit you in person._

_And lastly— **NO, I AM NOT INVOLVED WITH THE INQUISITOR**. I don’t know how many more times I have to tell you that before you believe me, but I’ll keep saying it. Whatever rumors you heard were lies. ~~Kaitlyn hasn’t even~~ (Don’t read into that; she’s very relaxed with the people around her. Using her given name means  nothing.) The Inquisitor hasn’t even been in Skyhold for nearly two months now. Besides, if ambassador Montilyet has her way, the Inquisitor will be engaged to some prince or emperor soon enough. The laws of mages being able to marry are already being called into question; I wouldn’t be surprised if Kaitlyn’s marriage set the precedent. I may have a position of high rank here, but I’m still a commoner, Mia. Women like her don’t marry commoners. _

_Your loving brother, _

_Cullen_

_I haven’t said it yet, but thank you for finding me again._

 

Cullen set the letter down and nodded once as though to confirm his own words. Tapping powder onto the page to settle the ink, he turned aside and opened his top drawer. He glanced around his office once—a habit he hadn’t been able to shake—and picked up Kaitlyn’s phylactery. He’d taken it from the storage after she’d been gone for a full month. The farther she was from Skyhold, the longer it took for any kind of message to arrive of her position. Some scouts waited several days before reporting on the Inquisitor’s movements which only added to the already painful and long spaces where anything could’ve happened to her. He’d delved into the old templar archives—he lacked the personal experience in searching for apostates—before finding a clear interpretation of what the various pulses and swirls of light meant.

Rising from his chair, he walked over to the far shelf and took out a map he kept tucked within one of Varric’s Hightown novels. He spread it out across the floor. It took a few moments before he found her new location. The phylactery wasn’t accurate but any means—especially not at such a great distance—but knowing that she had finally reached the heart of the Western Approach lightened the weight upon his chest.

Rylen would catch up with Kaitlyn any day now. Cullen envied his second in command, wishing _he_ had the ability to go to her aid. He would love to fight by her side again—preferably, when everyone’s lives weren’t in utter peril. She’d grown so much since then.

Smiling, he tucked the map away again before shaking the excess powder off his letter and setting it aside. Too tired to eat, he climbed up to his loft, the two moons providing enough light that he needed no candle to see where he was going. He shrugged off his jacket and kicked his boots away. Untucking his shirt from his trousers with one hand, he set the phylactery down beside his bed with the other—in the same spot he kept Kaitlyn’s letter.

“Please be safe,” he whispered to the glass bottle, settling down for the night as he mentally ticked off another day until Celene’s ball.

 

* * *

 

“Hold still,” Kaitlyn told Rylen for the fifth time.

“It’s just a scratch,” he said. “The Inquisitor herself shouldn’t be bothering herself over such a wee thing.”

“It’s _not_ a scratch and you know it.” She slapped the man’s hand away when he reached for the bandage she was applying to his upper arm.

The Western Approach had offered a wealth of surprises: Wardens corrupted into binding demons and killing their own—Asalla was still cursing Clarel’s blindly zealous actions—varghests around every corner, a _high dragon_ , bandits, and Venatori. Lots and lots of Venatori. Kaitlyn had led the soldiers in claiming the Griffon Wing Keep from them, but the battle had led to several injuries, including a severe cut to Rylen’s upper arm. He’d gotten it while protecting Sigrun.

“Do you know how the others are?” she asked while she wrapped the clean cloth around his arm, making sure it was neither too tight nor too loose with the poultice she’d set in place.

“Matthews’ll be on his back for a week. Don’t think he’ll mind too much. Means he won’t have to go searching for varghest nests like the rest of us.”

“That can wait till later.”

“Can’t,” he said. “It’s breeding season for them. We wait any longer and the high dragon will be the least of our problems.”

“… I see.”

He smirked softly at her. “Aye, I suspect ye do.”

“Rylen?” she asked after a moment.

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

He raised an eyebrow before he gaze flicked over her. His smirk widened and he leaned over towards her—a gesture that made him wince a little. “Aye, Inquisitor. Ye can ask anything ye like.”

“How well do you know the Commander?”

His smirk dissipated. “Cullen?”

“Yes.”

“Worked with him back in Kirkwall for a good few years. We’re friends. I’d trust him to have my back. Why?”

“I…” Her stomach twisted into knots and she cleared aside the bandages to give her hands something to do. She needed to ask Rylen now before they parted. “I was wondering if Cullen is… _with_ anyone.”

“What? Romantically?” he said the last word as though it were the butt of a bad joke. “Not that I know of. But then again, I didn’t know he had any siblings until one of Mia’s letters was left on my bunk by mistake.”

“So you don’t know for sure?”

“No. In fact, now that I think about it, it wouldn’t surprise me if he had a sweetheart tucked away somewhere. He had plenty of attention from men and women back in Kirkwall—and his looks weren’t nearly as good as they are now. One lady back in Hightown even claimed that she’d seen blood mages around her house and requested his presence for her guard. Said no one else could ‘get the job done properly.’”

“That’s awful.”

Rylen shrugged. “Turns out there _was_ a blood mage. Cullen found them and took them in. Doubt he was even aware that she was trying to seduce him.”

She struggled to mirror his smile. “I have another question, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m at your disposal.”

Kaitlyn paused, wanting to pick the perfect phrasing. “The Inquisition’s mission is going to take a lot longer than I first thought. There are so many things that I never even considered before. For example, what happens if a soldier or scout becomes pregnant? Do we send them home with our thanks and payment? Do we give them a position in the library? I suppose my question is this: do you happen to know any women who’ve gotten pregnant since the Inquisition was founded?”

That was subtle enough, right? And the question _was_ a valid one. Then again, she probably shouldn’t have asked immediately after inquiring if Cullen had a lover.

_Smooth, Kaitlyn. Very smooth._

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she waited for Rylen’s response, never fully meeting his gaze.

“… Yes,” he said after a while. “I’ve known of a few. Two became assistants to Dorian’s research projects. The others have maintained their positions. Maybe they’ll leave once they’re further along.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know their names, would you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “No. Inquisitor, what is this really about?”

“Nothing.”

“Mm hmm.”

“Truly,” she said. “I’m just curious. You seem like a well-connected man. People like you. They trust you. They’re far more likely to open up to you than they are to me.”

He chuckled but suspicion lingered in his eyes. “I’m glad ye think so. I certainly hope I’m up to the task of running a whole keep.”

“I’ve already asked for reinforcements to be sent out here for you. And if things ever become dire, your lives are far more important than holding this position.”

Rylen scoffed at that and straightened. “It would take a whole flight of dragons to pry me from this place. We’ll hold it, Inquisitor. Ye just take care of those Orlesian fops for us. I’d rather live in this place for a year than spend a week in their company.”

“I will,” she promised                                                                                                                                  

He reached out and gently took her hand. “Ye’ve done well. Better than I thought ye would. Nothing they throw at ye can compare to what ye’ve already beaten. Remember that. No matter how they surround ye, or how alone they make ye feel, you’re the fucking Inquisitor.”

She squeezed his hand and smiled. He was more like Cullen than she’d remembered. “Thank you, Rylen.”

He winked and got to his feet, making an exaggerated complaint until he caught Sigrun’s attention and sent her the largest pair of puppy-dog eyes Kaitlyn had ever seen.

Rolling her eyes at the display, Kaitlyn left Rylen to his flirting and meandered down towards her tent. Soldiers were clearing out and burning the dead with half-hearted prayers for their enemies’ souls. A few bowed to her when she passed. She forced smiles at them and hurried to her solitude. Excitement swelled within her as she packed the few possessions she’d brought with her. The wait was over. At long last, it was straight to the Winter Palace. Where Varric and Cassandra and Dorian and her other companions would be. And Cullen. Cullen would be there, too.


	25. All Dressed Up

Cullen fidgeted in his suit as the blue-eyed seamstress—the same one who’d measured him for the regal uniform Kaitlyn had commissioned—tugged and shifted and pinned the various layers. She took the fabric in a finger’s width here and there, fitting the clothes to him once more. His appetite had begun to dwindle and though he tried to stick to a normal eating schedule, the demands of his position often kept his focus on more important things.

“Are you done yet?” he asked, trying to keep the impatience from his voice.

“Does it _look_ like I’m finished?” She sent him a mild glare, her usually jovial manner long-dissipated. He couldn’t blame her. He’d been trying to get out of the room the moment Leliana had shoved him inside.

“Forgive me,” he muttered. “It was a long journey to get here and there’s something that I’m anxious to do.”

“Whatever it is, it can wait. I’m nearly finished. And it’s not like you’re the one who has to make all the alterations before tomorrow night.” She adjusted his breeches with a pin, placing it far closer to his cock than was comfortable. A warning: _hold still, or my fingers might slip_.

He cleared his throat and went as still as he could. Each minute turned into an agonizing hour. He muttered to himself, trying to think of what he might say to Kaitlyn when they met. The rumors of red templars and raiders in South Reach had claimed his attention the past month; the last letter she’d sent was still on his desk back in Skyhold, unanswered. Six weeks since he’d written her last.

A lot could happen in six weeks.

“There,” she said with an exaggerated patting of his arms. “I’m finished. Take it off carefully—wouldn’t want you to _accidentally_ prick yourself.”

“Sage advice,” he said with a weak smile. It took some work to disentangle himself from the various layers without stabbing himself but soon enough, he set the clothes aside for her and changed into the far less complicated shirt, jacket, and trousers he usually wore. He had to tighten his belt an extra notch and the arms were loose but he preferred his clothes that way. A tight collar left him feeling strangled.

The inn was a bustle of activity. The Inquisition had booked every room, but even with soldiers and scouts sleeping in the stables, there was hardly a room that wasn’t stuffed to bursting. Bull had _gallantly_ offered to share his bed—the largest one, of course—with anyone ‘who wanted to work off a little steam before the ball.’ By Cullen’s last count, at least a dozen men and women had shuffled inside. Judging by the noise, several more had joined in the meantime.

Chuckling softly as he passed the door, he continued upstairs, asking everyone he saw if they knew where the Inquisitor was. It took five ‘no, ser; sorry, ser’s until one man finally pointed up the stairs before crooking his finger to the left. Cullen thanked him before rushing up to the top floor. As was common with Orlesian buildings, the stairs wound upwards in a tight spiral that left him dizzy by the time he reached the landing.

“Inquisitor?” he called out softly when he stood in front of the door at the end of the left hall. “Are you there?”

“Just a moment, Commander.”

He smiled and placed a hand on the door. “There’s no rush.”

A second later, the door swung open and Cullen snapped his hand back to his side. It wasn’t Kaitlyn, but Leliana who stood on the other side, one of her eyebrows raised.

“Yes?” she asked. “Do you need something?”

“I was hoping to speak with the Inquisitor.”

“About?”

He frowned. “I want to know how she is.”

“She’s fine,” Leliana said, a subtle smirk tugging at one corner of her mouth. “She’s being—”

“I’m being fitted,” Kaitlyn called out from inside the room.

Cullen leaned over to get a better view. The bed and table had been shoved to the edges of the room. Kaitlyn stood in the center with several women flocking around her. Golden fabric draped from her waist down to the floor. It gleamed and sparkled whenever he caught the light and Cullen wondered if it was a trick of the cloth or if an enchantment had been added. It took a few seconds to realize that her back was bare not because of the dress’ design but because the dress was unfinished and that her entire top half was uncovered.

He drew back instantly, cheeks warming when Leliana’s smirk broadened. “Um, Inquisitor, might I, um, that is—I was hoping I might be able to speak with you tonight. In private. If–if that’s agreeable, of course.”

Kaitlyn said something to the women around her, her words too low for him to catch.

Leliana glanced to her then back to Cullen and said, “Don’t keep her too long. There is much to prepare before tomorrow and we’re going to need the Maker’s divine favor to finish it all on time.”

“Then it’s fortunate we have the Herald of Andraste on our side.”

She narrowed her eyes in a withering glare before shutting the door on him. The faint noises of shuffling and wood scraping on wood took up the next minute or so before the door opened again. Leliana stepped out followed by the other ladies. They stayed there in the hall, all of them staring at Cullen impatiently. He gave them a nod and a weak smile before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

A screen had been setup in front of Kaitlyn, leaving her body covered while her head, neck, and a glimpse of her shoulders remained free to be seen. Her very bare shoulders.

She smiled. “They don’t really build these things for women my height.”

“You look fine.” He blinked then shook his head. “Not that I can _see_ anything. I didn’t mean it that way. Not that you’re not fine looking, just that _I’m_ not looking. Not that I wouldn’t look if you were, um, you know. I mean, your face is very, er… symmetrical. And. Um. Nice. Maker’s breath, can I stop talking now?”

Laughing softly, she rested her chin on top of the screen. Her eyes were soft while she looked at him. He stepped closer, studying the way the firelight danced across her face. Her skin was a shade or two darker from being in the sun and she’d gained a muted spattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose. Hard living and a rationed diet had taken some of the softness from her face. But she looked happy. Content.

For a moment, Cullen forgot the women standing outside and the fact that he was going to have to rub elbows with dozens of Orlesian prats tomorrow. He forgot the slight shaking of his left hand and the headaches that were growing worse. He forgot about Corypheus and his blighted dragon. He forgot about the red templars and Samson and Calpernia and all the rest. And he smiled back at her.

“Cullen?”

“Yes?”

“Are you… all right?”

He frowned, wondering if he looked poor enough to make her worry.

“It’s just—you wrote to me so regularly, and then you stopped. I wasn’t sure if something happened to you. Cassandra was still looking for other Seekers and I didn’t know if anyone else was _aware_.” She glanced to the door at the emphasized word. The gesture was far more adorable than it had any right to be. “So… how are you? Really?”

“I’m fine.”

“ _Cullen_.”

He stepped closer to her, still smiling. “Things are about how I expected. I apologize for not answering you sooner, my family was in trouble—it seems the red templars have begun to spread out. Though I wasn’t able to go to them personally, I focused on little else besides their safety.”

“But they’re safe?”

“They are. Our soldiers arrived in time and even managed to capture one of the red templars relatively unharmed—a high ranking officer by the looks of his uniform. He wasn’t as far along as most we’ve seen so he’s being sent to Skyhold for interrogation.”

“Some good news, at last.”

“Indeed.” Another step. “And you, Kaitlyn? I read the debriefings about the Wardens. And another high dragon, no less. Were you able to escape unscathed?”

“A few broken toes, but they healed easily.”

“A few?”

Her cheeks darkened with a blush and she broke their gaze. “I, uh, I thought it would be a good idea to kick one of the bandits before they could get up again, but I didn’t know they had metal plating beneath their coat.”

He winced even as he laughed. “I doubt you made the same mistake again.”

“I very quickly realized that it’s better to just hit them in the head with my staff.”

A knock came from the door, pulling his attention.

“Commander,” came Leliana’s muffled voice, “we need to finish. Are you done yet?”

“Just a moment,” he said before turning to Kaitlyn. “Is there anything you need before tomorrow?”

“Luck. Maybe a bottle of mead to make my hands stop shaking.”

“A whole bottle?” He smiled softly, wanting to ease her nerves. “Just for yourself?”

“I might be willing to share it. _If_ you beat me in another game of chess.”

“Sounds fair.” He checked the door, certain Leliana would come bustling through at any second. “We’ll speak again tomorrow—at Celene’s ball, if not before.”

Her smile was sad and resolute.

“You’ll do fine,” he said.

“There’s a lot riding on this. If we can’t win Orlesian support, I doubt we’ll beat Corypheus. What if I already changed the future that I saw? What if he assassinates her the day _after_ the ball? Or what if he does it tonight?”

“Focus on the present. We’ll deal with whatever comes afterwards.”

She nodded. “You’re right. It’s pointless to worry over something I can’t control.”

“Exactly.”

“Now, if I could only make myself _believe_ that.”

He smiled again, retreating at another, more insistent, round of knocking. “If you figure out how, let me know.”

“I—”

The door opened, shattering their last seconds of privacy. Two of the seamstresses, one of each side, moved Cullen out into the hall with surprising strength. Within the space of a heartbeat, they crossed over the threshold and slammed the door shut on his face. The drag of wood said they’d set the latch in place to prevent any further interruption.

Knowing futility when he saw it, Cullen retreated back to his room where Cassandra, Blackwall, and Varric were all sleeping in various cramped positions. Cole sat on top of a bookshelf in the corner, one of Krem’s stuffed nugs in his lap. The spirit glanced up when Cullen stepped inside, a flash of recognition in his eyes that sent chills down Cullen’s spine.

“The chain is different. Most fall away with a single link, but this one gets tighter with every broken piece. It won’t stop until every link has fallen away. The last one will hurt—hurt more than anything before, but it’ll better once it’s broken.”

“What the blazes are you talking about?”                                                                           

Cole’s watery eyes lingered on Cullen’s face before he returned to the toy he held. He delicately fingered the thread whiskers, a deep melancholy to his voice when he said, “Bad dreams.”

 

* * *

 

 Kaitlyn sat in the Inquisition’s carriage, fingers fiddling with the polished bits of crystal hanging from the simple bracelet Josephine had set around her wrist. Her heart pounded at a deafening pace. Her stomach heaved and tilted. And her throat was trying very hard to claw its way out of her mouth so she wouldn’t ever have to speak again.

Deep breath in. Hold it.

_Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up._

Deep breath out.

She looked outside the window to the looming Winter Palace. The rest of the Inquisition had already arrived with her bringing up the rear. Fashionably late. According to Vivienne and Leliana, making everyone wait for her arrival would make them think more highly of her. Ridiculous. No wonder Fereldans mocked them so mercilessly.

“Inquisitor?” Josephine knocked softly on the door. “Are you ill?”

 _Yes_. Or, more accurately, she would be soon.

“Give me a moment.” She smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles of her dress with another set of deep breaths. The last time she’d attended such a gathering, she’d been nine and her magic had manifested itself in front of the gathered crowd. Her entire life changed that night. She suspected it was about to change again.

“Kaitlyn?” Josephine asked, more gently this time. “May I come in?”

Kaitlyn opened the carriage door before shifting to the side. Josephine slid in with a practiced grace. The ambassador wore a gown of deep, rich red, the Inquisition’s symbol embroidered over her heart in golden thread. Her shoulders were bare which highlighted the necklace of black gold and rubies around her neck. Most of her face was covered by a drake mask, the black carving highlighted and dusted over with gold—the symbol of Antiva. Her black hair hung in elegant curls down past her shoulders. Josephine had always been pretty, but now she was _radiant_. More than just her appearance, there was an inner excitement—a glow that shone through her eyes.

“You look lovely,” Kaitlyn said, managing a smile as she continued to chant _Don’t throw up, don’t throw up, don’t throw up_ in the back of her mind.

“As do you.” Josephine shut the door, shutting the rest of the world off for a while. “What’s wrong?”

“Nervous,” Kaitlyn muttered. “The future of Orlais is in our hands. No. More than that. The future of all of Thedas may be decided tonight. What happens if I mess up?” In the dark future, she’d had Dorian at her side. Varric and Blackwall, too. It had been Dorian who’d talked Alexius down, not her.

“Did you read all the pointers I gave you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you practice dancing while you were away?”

Kaitlyn puffed out her cheeks, remembering all the lecturing Nathaniel had given her at every misstep and hesitation. “ _Yes_.”

“Then you’re ready.” Josephine opened the door and stepped back out again. She held out a hand. “It’s time, Inquisitor. Show them that we are not to be trifled with.”

Kaitlyn took Josephine’s hand and stepped out, thanking the Maker when she managed to do so without tripping. Her gown, seemingly spun of pure gold, draped all the way to the ground. The Inquisition’s symbol took up most of the bodice, stitched with white, shimmering thread and styled to appear as though it were on fire. Everything about the dress had been carefully designed. The short, sheer sleeves, the bright and bold coloring, the nearly non-existent back—all things that railed against Orlesian fashion. A single clasp—designed after the Ferelden rose in honor of Queen Anora, and to partially annoy the Orlesian court—held the dress together between her shoulder blades. One press of a finger in the right place and the dress would undo and the dress would slide off her like gossamer. With her clothes and staff tucked away and secreted in through barrels the Inquisition had brought, she’d needed a dress that could be removed and put on again at a moment’s notice. Beneath the dress, she wore only smallclothes and heeled boots—Leliana had insisted on the heeled part as they would let Kaitlyn tower over most everyone in attendance.

The slight breeze made Kaitlyn shiver. Glancing around to ensure she was still hidden behind the hedges, she checked herself over. No mud on the dress. Her bracelet was still on. Yes, and the ornamentation in her hair too.

“Don’t touch your face,” Josephine said, lightly knocking Kaitlyn’s hands away.

“It’s going to be mussed up if I end up fighting anyway.”

“Which is why I gave Madame de Fer everything she needs to touch everything up. Besides, no one will care if your hair or face becomes slightly askew during the ball—they’ll just assume you were, well, becoming acquainted with someone. But you cannot _arrive_ with anything less than perfection.” Josephine looked her over several times before smiling. “Leliana has your mask. Remember: hold it but do not—”

“Wear it,” Kaitlyn finished. “I remember. Show them that I know their game but that I hold myself above it at the same time.”

Josephine smiled and nodded once. “After I pass through the gate, count to ten and then have the soldiers walk you in.” She gestured to the side of the gate where six men stood in full regalia, their uniforms made to mimic the uniform she’d commissioned for Cullen, though theirs weren’t nearly as fine.

Kaitlyn nodded, resting a hand against the carriage to keep her upright as she watched Josephine walk away. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. She would’ve given anything to fight another high dragon instead of having to face the Orlesians. Perhaps she should’ve brought one—dragging the skull of a high dragon behind her certainly would’ve claimed everyone’s attention.

The ten count passed far too quickly for her liking, but Kaitlyn walked over to the soldiers all the same. She kept her back straight, thinking to childhood lessons on poise and grace as they marched in front of her, announcing her presence to the court without words. They parted into two columns at the gate, turned, and bowed to her. She continued forward, eyes doing a quick sweep of the courtyard. Gaudy fountain, immaculate hedges, dozens of masked nobles. About what she’d expected. Save for Josephine, there were no other members of the Inquisition which meant they were already inside.

Kaitlyn started forward when a man in a bronze mask with an overly pointy nose came up to her. “Inquisitor Trevelyan,” he said with a sweeping bow. If not for the difference in accent, she might’ve thought it was Captain Rylen talking. “It is an honor to meet you at last. Bringing the rebel mages into the ranks of your army was a brilliant move. Imagine what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the _rightful_ emperor of Orlais.”

“And who is the rightful ruler here?”

“The handsome, charming man, of course, my lady.” He bowed again. She did not return the favor. “I am not a man who forgets his friends, Inquisitor. You help me; I’ll help you. So, my lady, are you ready to shock the court by walking into the grand ball with a hateful usurper?”

“Are _you_ ready to walk in beside a mage?” she asked with a smile. “I know that magic and monarchy do not mix well here in Orlais. Madame de Fer has told me the most fascinating stories.”

“Oh?” His voice carried an intrigued note. “Any gossip worth sharing?”

Kaitlyn considered telling him a lie, something grand and overblown that would spread through the whispering ranks like wildfire. But she didn’t want to place Vivienne in an awkward position. Being here after she’d been publicly outed was hard enough on her. So, Kaitlyn gave the slightest curtsy instead. “We’ll have to see how the night progresses. If all goes well, who knows what tales might slip from my tongue.”

He chuckled deeply, the wry grin on his lips spreading up to his eyes. “I look forward to it. As a friend, I feel I should warn you: an elven woman, Briala, is here as an ambassador. Her… _people_ are positioned all over the palace and I suspect that she will attempt to disrupt the negotiations. I know that my invitation isn’t the only reason for your attendance, Inquisitor. Whatever missions or plans you have, I only ask that you watch your back around them.”

“Thank you for your advice. I’ll be certain to keep my eyes open to _all_ those around me.”

His smile stiffened. “Of course, Inquisitor. I’ll see you inside.”

She tracked him with her eyes until he disappeared behind the ornate doors that led into the palace. Wanting a touch of distance between her and the man, she turned to walk about the garden.

“I’d heard the rumors,” said a woman several paces away, her voice loud despite the hushed quality to it, “but I didn’t actually think she was a _mage_.”

“It must be a mistake,” said her male companion.

“Andraste would not make such a mistake.”

“Then she cannot be Andraste’s Herald. Simply an imposter like the Mother in Val Royeaux said months ago.”

The pair laughed—an insipid, grating sound that hardened her fears and anxieties into pure annoyance. Their smug self-importance was a mistake. Their belief that they belonged where they were, that they’d somehow earned their position over their elven servants was a mistake. Their disregard and disdain and their utter lack of humanity for anyone besides themselves was a mistake. _They_ were the mistakes here, not her. _Not her._

Squaring her shoulders, she continued her stroll in the garden—taking care to brush by the two who had spoken about her, of course—before following after the Duke. She paused at the closed doors and glanced to the guards.

“Open the doors for me,” she ordered. When they shared an uncertain glance, she gathered every drop of confidence she had and said, “I am Kaitlyn Trevelyan of House Trevelyan, Enchanter from the Ostwick Circle, Andraste’s chosen Herald to save Thedas, and sole leader of the Inquisition. Your empress awaits an audience with me. You _will_ open the doors for me or I will destroy them in the Maker’s name.”

She fed a spark of magic into her hand on the last word and the mark flared, flooding their faces in green light. It was utterly over the top and she didn’t believe half the words she was saying, but the flash of panic in their widening eyes made her smile.

“Yes, Messere. Er, Inquisitor. Lady.”

Politely thanking them both, she stepped over the threshold and smirked down at the mark. It was about time the thing helped her out with more than just killing demons. She was sick of having it do nothing but ache constantly. Flexing her fingers to help ease said pain, she looked about the foyer.

A long staircase draped in red velvet stretched up to the doors of the grand ballroom. Benches and grand statues were set in intervals along the walls, giving ample sitting room for the various couples and groups who were already scattered about. More than one pair of eyes turned on her, their gazes even more scrutinizingly narrowed than the ones she’d seen outdoors.

Her advisors stood at the top of the stairs along with the members of her inner circle, Zevran, Mai, Fenris, Asalla, Alistair, Carver, Nathaniel, Velanna, and Sigrun. Asalla had invited Anders with the rest of them, suggesting that he could sneak through the grounds but Mai insisted that he stay behind. A wise choice, in Kaitlyn’s opinion. She’d only spoken a handful of words to Anders throughout their journey; while he seemed to have a kind heart, there was danger in him. Danger that scared her.

Altogether, the group stood out like crystal grace in a patch of spindleweed. In place of the dark blues and reds and blacks mixed with pastels and puffy sleeves, each of her party was vibrant and unique. Though most of them wore masks like everyone else, theirs were more grandly styled—yet another way in which they were part of the game without being _part_ of the game.

Asalla wore a gown of warm, light blue that rippled whenever she moved. Parts of the gown had been cut away along the sides where her dark skin contrasted beautifully with the fabric. Over her heart, the symbol of the inquisition had been stitched in gold with the silver symbol of the Wardens layered on top. Gemstones of the same shade as her dress were set in silverite around her neck and woven masterfully throughout the tight curls of her hair. Her mask, like Alistair’s and all the other Wardens’, was designed after a griffon.

Alistair, one arm around Asalla’s waist while he grinned at her like a madman, wore a finely tailored coat of a deep grey-blue. The cut was blunt but flattering, designed more for function than frills. White fur brushed with silver trimmed the high collar, making him look even taller than he already was. His dark grey breeches were tucked into tall leather boots. The same Inquisition-Warden symbol had been stitched into his coat as well.

Blackwall, Carver, Felix, and Nathaniel all wore suits similar to Alistair’s, though each man had differing details to make the clothes unique to the wearer. The Hawke family crest and a lower collar for Carver, more fur trim and a tighter coat for Nathaniel, a more elegant cut in the Tevinter fashion for Felix, less blue and more grey for Blackwall. Velanna and Sigrun’s dresses followed a similar pattern: dark blue-grey, practical—they even had pockets—but the tattoos on the women’s very unmasked faces continued in unbroken patterns on their dresses all the way down to the floor.

Mai wore a dress of vibrant red. The layers upon layers of silken fabric intersected and wove together, creating a powerful structural design that resembled Kirkwall’s symbol. The dashes of gold throughout caught the light when she walked, making it look like she was causing sparks with every step. The Hawke family crest was stitched over her heart, layered on top of the Inquisition’s symbol. A delicate comb of gold and rubies was set into her hair, holding it up in a bun and away from her hawk mask.

Fenris was almost unrecognizable out of his usual outfit. He’d let his hair down and the bulk of it hung in the barest of curls while several sections had been intricately braided along the side of his face. His dark brown uniform was similar to Mai’s in design—full of sharp angles and overlapping layers. Trimmed in red and with the same Hawke-Inquisition symbol on his chest, his coloring complemented Mai perfectly. He wore little in the way of ornamentation, his wolf mask striking enough to distract anyone.

No two members of the inner circle were dressed alike. Dorian had deep red robes that leaned towards purple with Tevinter’s symbol bronzed upon the back; rings adorned most of his fingers and he wore several golden necklaces to match the golden flakes that had been brushed into his hair and the golden serpent mask upon his face. Vivienne was a vision of silver and white—her gown flowed like water, contrasting wonderfully with the severe collar and high sleeves she always wore; her swan mask carried the same mixture of elegance and sharpness, matching the fierce confidence in her eyes. Solas’ robes were deep green interspersed with volcanic aurum cut in sweeping lines—a style she didn’t recognize; he’d draped fur over one shoulder, a wolf by the looks of it, and pinned it in place with a deep red jewel too dark to be a ruby; like Fenris, he wore a wolf’s mask though his was paler with leaner features. Bull wore a shocking pink suit with a full cravat and frilly cuffs; even now, he was grinning down at himself, happily adjusting parts of his clothing; he had no mask, but wore a vitaar oh the same pink as his jacket. Cassandra’s white overcoat was cut short in the front, ending just above her hips, and draped down the sides so that it barely hovered above the floor in the back; it was cut perfectly to her figure, the steep, black collar accentuating her cheekbones and the slight frills softening her face at the same time; her trousers were of black leather as were the buttons on the coat; her mask was a skull made of obsidian inlaid with white stone on the forehead so that the mask resembled the Nevarran heraldry. Sera also wore a suit instead of a dress; like everything the woman wore, it was a match of colors and cloths that shouldn’t have gone together but somehow worked when Sera wore them; she had no mask of her own but was currently trying to take Blackwall’s griffon mask off to wear it herself. Cole was—not there; the spots where he and Varric had been a half-second before now stood vacant.

Zevran stood between Josephine and Leliana. He matched Josephine in style though his suit was several shades closer to black. His crow mask, equally dark, glittered in the light, making his eyes shine all that much brighter when he looked around the room. Simple silver and gold bracelets adorned his wrists and a band of silver was wrapped around his neck. His boots were worn and frayed and patched, obviously years old, but polished to shine.

Leliana was the only one truly dressed to fit in with her full Orlesian gown of pale purples and blues that puffed out at her shoulders and hips. She wore black lace gloves that matched her rather wicked looking shoes. A classic bard’s mask of white porcelain dangled from one hand and a golden owl mask dangled from the other. She was talking to Cullen, a frown puckering the skin between her eyes.

Cullen. The suit fit him as well as she’d imagined it would. The rich blue coat hung all the way down to his knees, the grey fur on his shoulder making him look like a Fereldan lord. Like Leliana, he held his mask—a mabari, of course. The bags under his eyes were gone, as were some of the wrinkles from his face as though the pain of his lyrium withdrawal had been erased. His white breeches and fitted riding boots showed off the strength of his legs. The brown shirt underneath hung low, styled to give him a modicum of privacy against the prying eyes of the Orlesian court. A sword—a ceremonial one—hung on his left hip, only allowed inside because of his rank as general. He wore it all well. Incredibly so. Like the clothes could suit no one else in the world but him. Maker’s breath, but it was good to truly see him again.

Kaitlyn grinned up at them all. The Inquisition symbol emblazoned on all of their hearts made her chest swell with pride. These were her people, and they wouldn’t let her fail.

Gathering herself, she stepped onto the staircase. Her foot caught. Blood drained from her face as she tried to take another step upwards but the dress kept her foot where it was. A slight and futile tug proved that a loose thread had caught on her boot. Her heartbeat cracked like thunder in her ears. People were watching. Fans and masks hid expressions as the Orlesians began to whisper. She tried to step again. Had something just ripped? Her entire foot felt tangled. Had she already ruined the dress? Maker’s breath, what was she supposed to do? If she bent down and fixed in front of everyone, she’d shatter her first impression.

Maybe retreat? Yes. Yes, better to look as though she’d changed her mind and go inspect one of the statues. Unable to breathe, she slid her foot backwards. The dress moved with her. Her footing grew shaky. She was going to trip backwards, rip the dress, and ruin everything before it’d begun.

“Inquisitor.” Cullen was there. He bowed deeply, his right hand sweeping all the way to the floor—where he tugged her dress free. “My apologies. I should’ve come down the moment you stepped inside. I hope you will forgive the delay.” With a knowing smile, he took her right hand with his left and kissed the back. He froze for a half-second before straightening, his lips still on her skin. His brown eyes widened as pink blossomed across his cheeks. His right hand hung awkwardly in the air beside her face.

“It’s…” Kaitlyn swallowed hard while she stared up at him. He’d laced their fingers together. Such a pity that he was wearing gloves. “It’s all right, Commander. Distractions can be forgiven in such a place.”

“Y-yes. Of course,” he stammered, pulling away at last. Clearing his throat, he shifted to stand beside her, moving her hand to rest in the crook of his elbow. “Shall we?”

“Yes. _Thank you_.”

He smiled and kept himself close to her side, escorting her up to a smirking Leliana who was holding both of their masks out to them. Here was where the ball truly began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original greyscale artwork done by Siriusdraws which I was fortunate enough to win in their giveaway. Coloring done by me.


	26. Little Cakes

Kaitlyn squeezed the inside of Cullen’s elbow, sparing him a grateful smile as he continued at her side. She was going to get him a mabari after this. No. She was going to make a special Inquisition kennel overflowing with mabari after this.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, cheeks still pink.

“So do you,” she whispered back. “Do you know how long have before we’re supposed to enter?”

“Seconds. Gaspard was announced right when you stepped inside. There’s only one or two nobles left before it’s our turn. Are you ready?”

“Ready enough.” She squeezed his arm again, taking comfort in his presence while also dreading the fact that they would be separated again soon. “Your mask—let me put it on for you.”

“No.” He slipped away from her when she reached for the mabari mask Leliana had handed to him. “You can’t be the one to do it.”

“I—right. You’re right.” She let her hands fall to her side, her dislike of this place increasing another degree.

Leliana affixed Cullen’s mask before putting on her own with a practiced ease. She held out Kaitlyn’s mask and said, “Remember, don’t—”

“Wear it,” Kaitlyn finished. “Yes, Josephine already reminded me. Thank you, Leliana.” Taking the golden owl, she sighed and kept to the back of the group while the others stepped forward to be announced. She stared down at the delicate mask. When she was little, she’d always wanted to wear one to a ball just like this. Would they let her keep it when this was over?

Asalla retreated to Kaitlyn’s right. “The Orlesians certainly don’t hold back, do they?”

“Those statues are mostly tin.” Mai came up on Kaitlyn’s left. “Fenris scratched one to test it—barely a single layer of gold leaf. I’d bet you anything that most of the things in here are fake.”

“Or gifts,” Asalla said. “I’ve had to give away a few treasures to appease people of power.”

“True,” Mai said.

Kaitlyn smiled at the pair of them, glad to have them there. Her smile widened when the announcer’s voice cracked and a different servant rushed forward to replace him. He’d barely gotten through the Wardens—save for Asalla—and his replacement was already eyeing the Inquisition members with something close to despair in his eyes. It was their own fault. If the Orlesians were going to pat themselves on the back every time they went to a party, competing to see who had the most titles in their name—she would see them all crushed.

“You know what would be fun?” Asalla asked once the announcer had finished saying Cassandra’s full name. “I could use Flying Swarm while Mai brings down a Firestorm. Think about it—instead of a thousand stinging insects, I could be a thousand stinging insects _on fire_.”

“Wouldn’t that hurt you more than them?” Kaitlyn asked.

“That’s where you come in,” Asalla said. “Your healing magic would let me maintain the form longer.”

Mai frowned. “And how would this help us catch our suspect?”

“It wouldn’t,” Asalla said. Her face, which had been soft and smiling moments before, hardened to a scowl that could topple kingdoms. “But at this point, I don’t particularly care about the future of Orlais.”

“Then how about the rest of Thedas?” Mai asked, glancing to Alistair who, unlike the rest of the Wardens, was not showing muted deference to the empress, but was staring back at Asalla, waiting patiently until she could join him.

“I’ve already saved Thedas once—it’s not nearly as exciting or heroic as everyone makes it out to be.” She gave them a weak, bitter smile and Kaitlyn saw the marks that Alistair had traced with his fingers so many times by the firelight.

“We’ll make flaming insects are backup plan,” Kaitlyn said. “It would certainly divert everyone’s attention if we needed a distraction.”

“I suppose it could help flush out the assassin,” Mai added. “It might force their hand—make them act when they aren’t ready.”

“See?” Asalla said, her expression warming again, though it wasn’t as sincere as before. “I knew you two would come around. I’m always right about these things.”

“—Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath,” the announcer said, drawing Kaitlyn’s attention back to the front where Cullen was walking forward. The entirety of their group—except the three of them still lingering at the top—stood in parallel lines at the edges of the ballroom floor. Mai stepped forward to the edge of the landing as the man finished with, “Commander of the forces of the Inquisition. Former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall.

“Lady Mai Hawke of Lothering. Destroyer of the Qunari uprising. Savior and Champion of Kirkwall. Defender of—”

“No mention that she’s an apostate,” Asalla muttered to Kaitlyn. “Probably won’t include that detail with me either.”

“Grey Wardens can’t _be_ apostates. You know that.”

“We’re most definitely apostates. We simply can’t be arrested for it.”

Kaitlyn smiled. “Is that why you conscripted so many mages?”

Asalla nodded, a touch of anger in her brown eyes. “Until Clarel stole them from me.”

“Lady Asalla Surana,” the man said, pulling her towards the others. Alistair took her hand, escorting her into place. “Slayer of the Archdemon and defeater of the fifth blight. Hero of Ferelden. Warden-Commander of the Grey. Awarded the aurum crown of bravery, the silverite wings of valor, and the obsidian shield of peace.”

Kaitlyn stepped forward, feet dragging along as though they’d turned into bags of sand. She took a steadying breath, minutely adjusting her dress to ensure she wouldn’t snag on it again.

“Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan of the Ostwick Circle of Magi.”

She eased down the stairs, chin up and back straight, eyes fixed on the empress.

“Vanquisher of the rebel mages of Ferelden. Crusher of the vile apostates of the mage underground.”

Someone of her left scoffed. Sera muttered a complaint somewhere behind her.

“Champion of the blessed Andraste herself.”

All at once, the two lines of her allies bowed towards her—far deeper bows than they’d given Celene. Murmurs rippled through the room and the announcer stuttered on his final line.

“L-leader of the Inquisition.”

Kaitlyn stopped and inclined her head towards Celene.

“Lady Inquisitor,” Celene said in a tightly controlled tone. “We welcome you to the Winter Palace. Allow us to present our cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes, without whom this gathering would never have been possible.”

“It is a pleasure,” Florianne said. Confusion and annoyance leaked into her voice despite the smile and curtsy she displayed for the court. “I was not aware you were among our guests. I hope that you’ll find things to your satisfaction.”

Kaitlyn smiled, shifting her hand a little to show off the mask she was refusing to wear. “Words could never hope to describe the things I’ve experienced here. The Orlesian court is a true marvel. Every expectation has already been exceeded.”

“Your modesty does you credit and speaks well of the Inquisition,” Celene said while Florianne skirted off to the side. “Feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom, Inquisitor. We look forward to watching you dance.”

Kaitlyn curtsied slightly while Celene walked away. She counted to five before straightening again, relief making her knees tremble as the sounds of talking, eating, and pompous plotting resumed.

“Excellently done,” Leliana whispered, coming to her side and escorting her up the nearest staircase. “For now, it is most important that you are seen and seen often. The rest of us will spread throughout the palace to look for any information. Who knows, you might even end up enjoying yourself. The little cakes here are particularly delectable.”

“Little cakes?”

Leliana smirked, her eyes gaining that familiar _I know your weaknesses_ gleam. “The ones you’ve had in Val Royeaux will taste like lumps of flour compared to what they serve here.”

“I suppose… I mean, I wouldn’t want to be rude by refusing to eat their food.”

“Precisely. And remember to talk with Gaspard, Briala, and Celene’s ladies sometime this evening—even more than saving Celene, we need to stop this infighting. If Orlais falls to civil war, then Corypheus has won. Before the ball is over, we might end up making a coup of own. Go. Learn what you can. I’ll come find you if we discover anything important.”

Kaitlyn nodded once before making a slow sweep around the room. She nodded and smiled and chatted absently, making sure she was seen before she finally began to drift in Cullen’s direction. Keeping her pace unrushed and casual, she took the long way towards him. Six or seven Orlesians had gathered around him. She frowned at the lines forming in his face, the way his gloved fingers twitched on occasion. His mask was gone—neither on his face, in his hands, nor anywhere near him. She moved to intervene, to say something, when one of their questions gave her pause.

“Are you married, Commander?”

Kaitlyn turned her back on the group and slid towards the wall, pretending to be fascinated with a vase set on the nearby table while her ears itched for his answer.

“Not yet,” Cullen said. “But I am… already taken.”

“Still single then.”

The air chilled around Kaitlyn. She withdrew her hands from the vase, not wanting to accidentally shatter the piece and walked around the gathered group to approach Cullen from the other side. Those words didn’t change anything. She’d known they were true for months now, and she’d known that she still wanted to be close to him in any way she could.

“Commander?” she called, sliding in between two men. “I was wondering if you’d take a turn with me about the room.”

He flashed her a grateful smile before bowing. “It would be my honor.”

Her hand rested on his arm as she moved in closer to his side, taking a small pleasure in the annoyed glances around her. Maker as her witness, she wasn’t going to let a single one of them sink their claws into Cullen. The distress in his face was even more obvious up close.

“Thank you,” he murmured once they’d escaped the glares. “I was beginning to think I’d never get away.”

“Who were they?”

“I don’t know, but they wouldn’t leave me alone. One of them—I didn’t see who—pulled the mask right off my face; said I was…”

“What?” she asked gently when he trailed off.

Color rose in his cheeks and his step slowed. He looked away as if embarrassed. “Said I was too handsome to be covered up like that. Like I was some show horse.”

Kaitlyn glanced over her shoulder, barely containing the glare burning behind her eyes. More than one of his little flock had come trailing after him, though they had enough good graces to try and be covert about it. Squeezing Cullen’s arm, she smiled at him, wanting to lighten the obvious tension and discomfort that kept his body stiff. “They’re not completely wrong. You are—I mean, not the way _they_ said it, of course. They shouldn’t have done that. And I’m sorry they did. But you _are_ … very handsome.”

He looked to her and she wished for all the world that she’d been able to wear her mask. Heat blazed across her face. For an instant, time slowed to a near stop as he stared into her eyes. The wrinkles were still in his face—someone had powered his skin to cover up the effects of his withdrawal. A pity, really. She’d always thought his wrinkles gave him a character. His lips were fuller than she’d remembered and with the added height of her heels, they were dangerously close to her own. An accidental bump from a third party and they would kiss. And the _smell_ of him. The rich earthiness of oakmoss sweetened by a dash of elderflower. It made her think of their chess matches, of when he’d held her hand, how warm his body had been when she’d hugged him before leaving to the Western Approach. She’d thought—hoped, _prayed_ , really—that spending three months apart would dull the growing attraction for him. It had not. Glancing down to his lips, she held the image of him kissing Cassandra Tavell firmly in her mind, clinging to the memory as a reminder not to do anything foolish.

The instant passed and he smiled. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

She cleared her throat and tore her gaze away, mentally rehearsing parts of the Chant. “I’m sorry. That was probably a terrible thing to say, but it _is_ true—the last bit; the handsome bit—and you did call me beautiful so it only seemed fair. It’s a pity they took your mask though; I thought it looked splendid with the coat. That’s not why I’m sad they took your mask, of course. I didn’t mean to make it sound like that. I just meant that, well, um—cake?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Cake.” She gestured to the tables set up at the end of the ballroom where delicate cakes were set atop equally delicate plates. “Leliana tells me they’re quite good. It would be a pity to miss them, don’t you think?”

“Something enjoyable in the Winter Palace? I didn’t think it was possible.”

“There’s dancing too,” she said. “Dancing can be enjoyable.”

“I suppose. I’ve never really danced before myself. Templars never attended balls.”

“Maybe tonight you’ll finally get to change that.”

He smiled a little when they stopped in front of the dessert table. “Maybe.”

Kaitlyn let go of his arm with minor reluctance and took one of the plates. The pastry was sweet and the frosting melted across her tongue, but she tasted neither the vanilla nor the buttercream. The fluttering of her stomach had only increased since she’d stepped inside the palace. After a few more nibbles, she set it down, her appetite gone.

“Cullen?”

“Hmm?” Chocolate was smeared all along his bottom lip. She stared at it, wondering how it would taste. Rich, dark, a dash of the same earthiness as his cologne. Sweet. She doubted anything would taste better. “Inquisitor? _Kate_?”

She blinked, eyes refocusing on his. “Yes?”

“You were going to ask me something?”

“Yes. Yes, I… I was going to ask who you supported in all this.”

He finished his little cake, eyes closing for a brief moment as he savored the final morsel on his fork. Why did he have to be cute on top on everything else?

“Gaspard’s claim to the throne is fair,” he said. “Orlais needs someone capable of responding to the crisis at hand. A military-minded leader seems the best option.”

“But the Inquisition isn’t military focused. At least, I don’t consider us to be. Yes, we’re fighting a war but once we’re finished, we can disband and everyone will go home. We won’t keep existing and influencing others. We’re not a country.”

“You may not be military-minded,” he said, “but you’ve always been a woman of action. Even before you were Inquisitor, you were proactive in trying to make a difference. Josephine may say that Celene has maintained peace, but that ‘peace’ is only her mollifying the other nobles. She’s done little for the people at large.”

“True, but I don’t think Gaspard cares for Orlais’ people either. What little I know of him… I think he’d become so obsessed with glory and battles that he’d continue waging war even after Corypheus is beaten. Ferelden couldn’t stop him; large parts of the country are still damaged by the Blight. The Free Marches have become more and more divided since the explosion in Kirkwall. And the Tevinter Imperium is occupied with Qunari threats. Gaspard could wreak havoc if he chose to.”

“So could we, _Inquisitor_.”

“Obviously, I should solve all our problems at once and just become empress of Orlais myself.”

“Exactly.”

They shared a soft laugh that sent the flutters of her stomach spreading down to weaken her knees. Her grin faded when his eyes drifted over her shoulder. Resignation filled his face as he took a half-step away from her. She started to follow him when he shook his head subtly.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana said with an overly honeyed voice, “you are supposed to be socializing and making a good impression on the court. Monopolizing the Commander when he has his own things to attend to will help no one. I’ve already arranged for you to meet with several people here and it’s best not to keep them waiting any longer than you already have.”

Leliana hooked one hand around Kaitlyn’s arm. Kaitlyn kept her eyes on Cullen even as Leliana began pulling her away.

“We’ll talk again later,” Kaitlyn told him.

“We will,” he said. “Good luck, Inquisitor.”

She turned away from him, barely focusing on Leliana as she listed various details and opinions on nearly every noble they passed. Trying to remember all the things she’d had to learn about the Orlesian court, she smiled at the couples around the room. Dorian and Felix were dancing together, bodies close and lips almost touching; the room could catch on fire and neither of them would’ve noticed. Asalla was resting in Alistair’s arms, her head rested on his shoulder; the height differences between them left her feet dangling above the floor, not that either of them seemed to mind. Fenris and Mai were nowhere to be seen and Kaitlyn suspected they had either found a private corner or were currently terrifying the life out of some assassins.

“The servants’ quarters is a blood bath,” Leliana said once they’d reached a more secluded corner. “And we’ve already found multiple emissaries and ambassadors murdered throughout the grounds. At this point, it’s still unclear who the Tevinter agent might be as their actions are overlapping with the sides vying for the throne. And there’s another problem: Morrigan is here.”

“ _Morrigan_ Morrigan?” Kaitlyn asked. “From—”

“Yes. One and the same. She took over Vivienne’s position of arcane advisor. Watch your back around her, Inquisitor. She will likely approach you before the night is out, but whatever she says, she’s working in _her_ best interest, not yours and certainly not Celene’s.” Leliana’s gaze swept across the room. “I’ve heard that Celene’s ladies will approach you in the gardens. Perhaps it’s time you went out there and listened to Maryden. She sings Orlesian quite beautifully.”

“What perfect timing. I’m in the mood for a good song.”

“Inquisitor,” Leliana called when Kaitlyn started to step away. “There is _one_ more thing.”

“Yes?”

“You need to stop lingering around Cullen until everything is solved.”

Kaitlyn frowned. “Why?”

“Because _both_ you and he need to be alluring enough to bring out suitors and if the court thinks you’re together, it will drastically count into the amount of people who take up an interest. One person of power, fine, but two people of power coming together tends to end poorly and no one will want to get caught up in the mess. Everyone who takes interest in wooing you can be turned to potential allies.”

Kaitlyn’s frown deepened. “Do we really need such extreme measures? We have the mages and the templars. We have both hands of the Divine. We have the carta and the merchants’ guild. We’ve got the bloody Champion of Kirkwall and the Hero of Ferelden on our side.”

“And yet, Corypheus and Samson and Calpernia all elude us. Corypheus started with both the mages and templars _and_ seekers and all the rest. We are chipping away at his forces, yes, but we still know next to nothing about him. He’s targeting the Wardens—perhaps he already has laid the way for the sixth blight to arrive and merely waits for the Darkspawn to catch up to him. Maybe he has legions of Qunari or thousands of Tevinter slaves tucked away. We need everything we can get. Everything. So please, for the next few hours, play your part and let Cullen play his.”

Kaitlyn stared at Leliana for a few moments. “I don’t like this.”

“I’m not asking you to like it.”

“…Fine,” Kaitlyn said. “I’ll play along, but only if you make sure no one goes too close to Cullen again. If anyone tries taking his coat off or pulling him into a room he obviously doesn’t want to be in, I expect you to put a fucking dagger through their hand. Do you understand me?”

Leliana arched a brow. “The Commander is more than capable of defending himself.”

“I know that. But just because he _can_ defend himself, doesn’t mean he should have to. I mean it, Leliana. You and Josephine know how to handle this attention, but Cullen’s used to a different kind of battlefield. I’m not going to make him go through all this just to get another name or two on our side. It’s not worth it. Not to me and certainly not to him.”

“We may have to make up the difference in other ways. I did not exaggerate when I said we need everything we can get, but… I suppose there are always other ways to win favors. It may end up that _you_ will have to endure such attentions later.”

“I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it,” Kaitlyn said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and decide which side of a civil war we should support.” She glanced to Cullen one last time before muttering a farewell to Leliana.

Fiddling with the ribbon of her mask, she made her way towards the gardens, trying to ignore the dozens of faceless, nameless people who passed by. Any one of them could be the assassin. Any one of them could spring from the shadows and take Celene’s life, or Gaspard’s, or hers. Her hand tightened around the ribbon and she quickened her step. _Let them try_.


	27. Shall we Dance?

Cullen had never felt so exhausted in his life. He’d suffered through battles and sieges, endured torments most people could never understand but _this_ place, this soul-sucking pit of pomposity and circumstance was right there at the top. Every foul remark and invasion was masked with a smile and treated as accepted, if not desired. Who would enjoy being poked and prodded and leered at in such a manner, he didn’t know.  

“Commander,” Leliana said as she came up to him and his ‘admirers.’ “Might I have a moment of your time?”

“Of course.” He pried himself free of a man’s grasp, eye twitching when he felt a familiar pinch on his backside. The others giggled like children. His hand flexed with the urge to grab the man and shove him against the wall, to share the discomfort and uncertainty and fear the man had inflicted on him.

“Commander?”

“Coming,” he said, releasing the tension with an absent shake of his fist. He trailed after Leliana, keeping his head somewhat lowered in the hopes that he wouldn’t garner anymore followers. When she pulled him out onto an empty veranda, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Kaitlyn’s missing.”

Everything inside him went cold. “How long?”

“Mai and Fenris saw her last, not ten minutes ago when they were clearing out some assassins. They found her with Varric and Cassandra in the gardens. Mai and Fenris were kept busy while the others decided to forge ahead. No one’s seen them since.”

“The negotiations are nearly concluded. Corypheus’ assassin could strike at any time. We need to send out a party to look for her. _Now_.”

“You know we can’t,” she said. “If word got out that she was traipsing through the castle without permission, it could ruin our relations with the court. No one is allowed within the private wings of the palace. It is one of the few rules the court abides by.”

“Fuck what the court thinks.”

She glared at him. “Yes, I’m very familiar with your opinions about this place, Commander, but cursing them out isn’t going to help her.”

“So why tell me?” he asked. “If we’re not allowed to do anything about her disappearance, why come to me at all?”

“ _We_ may not be able to go to her, but _you_ can.”

He frowned.

“I know you have her phylactery, Cullen.”

“I—I have no such thing.”

She arched a brow. “Do you really think that someone could remove the _Inquisitor’s_ phylactery from the storeroom and I wouldn’t find out about it?”

Cullen glanced away from her smirk, his cheeks warming.

“Please tell me you brought it with you.”

He nodded weakly and reached for the ornamentation on his chest—the piece Kaitlyn had designed so several small vials could fit inside.

“No,” she said when he tried to hand it out to her. “I want you to go find her. No one will be surprised that you wanted to find some solitude so your absence won’t be questioned for a few minutes. It has to be you, and you have to go now.” Leliana gestured over the side. A rope had been set in place that went straight down to the gardens below.

“Understood,” he said, already climbing over the railing.

“Cullen.”

“Yes?”

“Bring her back safely.”

“I will.”

They exchanged a strained set of smiles before he rappelled down the side of the palace, landing in the unguarded gardens with a faint grunt. He shook himself once, trying to rid himself of his thoughts of desire demons and the stench pf death, before he drew his sword and charged in the direction the phylactery was pointing him to.

Bodies were scattered throughout the gardens. Elven servants, masked assassins, demons, and Tevinter spies all mixed together along with the occasional guard. Each corpse spurred him forward until he was sprinting. With one eye on the phylactery, he almost tripped over an empty barrel set in the middle of the path.

“Behind you!” a woman yelled off to the right.

He followed the voice, vaulting over a short wall and running into a small chantry attached to the palace. Kaitlyn had a barrier around her, Varric, and Cassandra, blocking a set of daggers before Cassandra dashed ahead and used her shield to bash one of the assassins in the head while Varric released a veritable hail of arrows.

Cullen picked up the shield of a fallen guard before joining the fray. He cut down a masked attacker, their mouth parting in surprise even as they crumpled to the ground. Something sliced across his cheek.  He ignored the sting, coming up to Kaitlyn’s side.

She glanced to him and smiled. Her hair was mussed and there was sweat running down the side of her face, but she showed no signs of injury or pain. Her magic hummed as she cast Winter’s Grasp on a man who’d been sneaking up behind Varric. A pounding of Cullen’s shield, and the man was no more.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” she said.

“Leliana was worried.”

“Didn’t realize we’d been gone that long,” she said as Varric took down the last of the attackers. “We’ve been kept rather busy.”

“I saw the trail you left behind. Quite impressive—did you find what you were looking for?”

Kaitlyn nodded and set her staff against the nearest wall. Sitting on the edge of a fountain, she pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed the sweat from her face. “I found out that none of the candidates for the throne are decent people.”

“And this surprises you?”

“I suppose not.” She turned to Cassandra. “Will you check to see if the rest of the way is clear?”

“I’ll go with her,” Varric said before the pair of them went ahead.

“I know who the assassin is,” Kaitlyn told him.

Cullen sat beside her. “Who?”

“Gaspard’s sister.”

“Was the Duke involved?”

“I don’t think so, but…”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head slightly and closed her eyes, a lifetime of exhaustion seeming to weigh her down. “How much time do you think we have?”

“Minutes. Josephine will likely try to stall, but without knowing the exact moment when Florianne plans to strike, it’d be best not to linger.”

“You’re right. Over there”—she pointed to a set of bushes across from them—“there’s a barrel with our fancy clothes in it. Could you bring it to me, please?”

“Of course.”

She smiled, gratitude filling her eyes as he rose and walked over to where she’d pointed. It took several moments of rifling through the greenery before he found said barrel and pried the top off. Their clothes and masks and finery had been folded and set within.

“Clever,” he said, walking back to her, staring at the contents. “Is everything you’re wearing now supposed to go inside because I think you’re… you’re…”

The barrel slipped from his fingers and hit the grass with a dull thud. Kaitlyn was bent over the fountain, naked from the waist up, where she was using the cool water to help wipe the sweat and signs of battle from her body. He didn’t mean to stare. Maker as his witness, he didn’t mean to. Every boyhood lecture on privacy and modesty resounded through his ears, but he remained frozen.

Her back had become well-muscled and defined in her time away, and she moved with a grace and surety she hadn’t possessed before. When she turned, not quite looking at him, the garden lanterns added a soft glow to her brown skin, highlighting the dips and curves and lines of her body. A thin scar traveled from her right shoulder all the way down to her left hip, cutting across the top of her right breast. Her rather wonderfully full breasts.

His mouth went dry. One of his hands twitched. The collar of his coat tightened; he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t even _want_ to breathe.

“Commander?”

Cullen blinked, his head jerking towards Cassandra who was returning with Varric at her side.

“Right. Yes.” He cleared his throat set the barrel down beside the fountain, eyes firmly set on the grass. He mumbled something nonsensical, words escaping his grasp, and backed away to let them change. Heat stirred within him and his hands trembled from something other than withdrawal. Mentally reciting pieces of the Chant while he waited, he shook his body lightly when Varric announced they were ready.

“Nice timing there, Curly.” Varric smirked up at him.

“How did you find us?” Kaitlyn asked. She was still fiddling with her hair, setting the ornamentation back in place.

“Yeah, Curly. Why don’t you _fill_ her in on the details.”

Cullen scowled at him before giving Kaitlyn an apologetic smile while he pulled out her phylactery.

She frowned as she took it from him. “You brought this with you?”

“I… yes.”

She stared at it a moment longer, the pulsing light almost blinding at her touch, before handing it back with a murmured, “I see.”

“We should get back inside,” Varric said. He gave Bianca a fond pat before placing her into the barrel. Cassandra followed suit with her weapons before reaffixing her mask on.

“I’ll be right there,” Kaitlyn said before reaching in and pulling out a silver mabari mask. She smiled at Cullen. “I found it a while back—I think whoever took it must’ve tossed it over the side. May I?”

“Yes. Thank you, Inquisitor.” He lowered his head slightly to give her an easier time. Her fingers brushed along his right cheek, the soothing touch of healing magic wiping away the pain of the earlier cut, before she reached around and tied the mask back into place. Her hands lingered there before she pulled away and took up her own golden mask.

Cullen cleared his throat and tucked her phylactery safely away in the metal casing on his chest before he offered his arm out to her. The corner of her mouth tugged up into a smirk when she accepted it. They walked together, Cassandra and Varric flanking them on either side as they strode into the palace. Kaitlyn’s grip tightened to the point of bruising.

“You’re going to be fine,” he told her when they’d reached a door that led into the ballroom.

“I’m not worried about myself.”  With a smile, she let go of him and went to the center of the room. Blood pounded in his ears. He hesitated, unsure if he should continue after her or stay to the side like the rest of the court as Kaitlyn proceeded up the empress. In the end, Cullen remained where he was, watching with tight apprehension as Kaitlyn exposed Florianne, presenting evidence until Florianne’s own brother turned his back on her. Cullen frowned faintly when Kaitlyn was beckoned by Celene onto the balcony with Briala and Gaspard in tow.

“Who do you think she chose?” Leliana asked him as she and Josephine drew near.

“Celene, obviously,” Josephine said. “If she’d wanted Gaspard to rule, she would’ve needed to wait until Florianne carried out her assassination.”

“Yes,” Leliana said, “but Celene by herself? Or will the Inquisitor arrange a com—hmm. No compromise then.”

Cullen’s frown deepened when another set of guards escorted the Duke in the same direction they’d taken his sister. Celene followed shortly after, accompanied by Briala and Kaitlyn. He studied Kaitlyn’s face while the ruler of Orlais went on about a brighter future and needing to work together for a common goal. He didn’t catch most of the words.

Kaitlyn looked… exhausted. Worn thin. A string about to snap. She smiled when the attention shifted onto her, yes, and she spoke and acted with the authority of the Inquisition, coaxing a deep sense of pride from within him. But that didn’t change the slight droop to her frame when Celene took the spotlight. And it didn’t change the weariness in her eyes when she slipped out onto the balcony.

Cullen waited until the music started up again before following after her. A woman with a dark dress brushed him as he passed, but he didn’t spare her more than a glance before going to Kaitlyn’s side.

“Are you all right?”

“I suppose,” she said. She moved naturally closer to him, her head almost resting on his shoulder. “Are you disappointed?”

“In what?”

“In the fact that I didn’t choose Gaspard like you wanted?”

He smiled at her. “Not at all. None of us _know_ what the best choice is, Kaitlyn. I thought Gaspard would be a good leader for the situation ahead. You thought otherwise. I’m your advisor, not your conscience. Besides, this is hardly the first time you’ve chosen differently from what I suggested.”

She laughed at that. “True. It’s becoming quite a habit of mine.”

Cullen checked the doors. No one was coming.

“As we may not have this chance again,” he said, stepping away from the balcony’s edge so he could bow to her with one hand outstretched. “Might I have this dance?”

“Really?”

“Why not?”

An enormous grin broke across her face. “First, could you help me put this on? I’ve always wanted to go to a masked ball, but Josephine wouldn’t even let me try it on before the dance.”

Taking the golden owl mask from her, he chuckled to himself when she all but bounced on the balls of her feet in excitement, turning around so he could tie the mask in place. The beating of his heart grew more distinct until he could feel each separate beat when he took her into his arms.

Maker’s breath. He’d forgotten her dress was backless. He’d known it, seen it, but _feeling_ her bare skin beneath his palm—had that gasp been from him or her?—cracked against his certainty. He pulled her in against his chest. It was utterly unfair how good she smelled. Like snow and freshly baked bread with something soft and floral beneath it all.

Her left hand traveled slowly up his arm towards his shoulder as their free hands met. It was incredible how small she was. World leader. Politician. Battlemage. Dragon slayer. And yet she fit so easily within his arms. Perfectly, even.

He stared at her for a while—somewhere between seconds and hours. Squeezing her hand, he managed to whisper, “Are you ready?”

She nodded once, her eyes never leaving his. He dared to pull her closer before sliding a foot forward. The motion wasn’t in time with the music. They moved several times slower than the rhythm dictated, but she didn’t seem to mind, and he was enjoying this chance to really hold her for once. It had been three months since she’d embraced him before leaving. Three interminable, unending, torturous months. And now, she was here. With him. Alone under the stars with his hands on her soft skin and her eyes locked on his own. She was so beautiful.

He didn’t know when their arms had shifted—his were around her waist while her arms had draped across his shoulders—but the small adjusted had added a layer of intimacy between them. A slight shiver ran through her when one of his hands slid up her back to the skin between her shoulder blades. His fingertips brushed along the clasp there. The clasp that kept her dress from falling straight down to the floor. He remembered the way she’d looked in the garden, how the lanterns had made her glow. _Beautiful_.

“Cullen…”

He moved in closer, the unmasked portion of their cheeks meeting. She shivered again. “Yes?”

Her arms tightened around him and she angled her neck slightly, her warm breath tickling his skin. The edges of their lips met for the briefest of seconds. Their dancing slowed to a stop. He pulled away enough to look at her lips.

“ _Kate_.”

“We shouldn’t,” she murmured, the words as weak as her voice. “We _can’t_.”

“Why not?” He pulled her closer still, reveling in her warmth, in the fluttering of her heart which he felt beating beneath her ribs, in the way her fingers were resting on his neck. “No one will see us.”

“That doesn’t mean no one will get hurt.” She stepped away and wrapped her arms around herself. Without her warmth, the cool night air seeped down into his bones. “I heard your answer, Cullen, When that noble asked you if you were married: _not yet, but I am already taken_. I know about Tavell. I’m sorry if you meant to keep it quiet, but I _know_. And I… I can’t”—the word tremored and she looked away from him—“I won’t do it, Cullen. I won’t be that kind of person.”

He blinked a few times, the sudden shift in atmosphere causing his thoughts to scatter too quickly for him to catch them again. “I… _what_? No. No, I’m not—I said that to the nobles in the hopes that they’d leave me alone. I should’ve known better. The Orlesian court has never been particularly picky about fidelity in the past. What’s this business with Tavell?”

She gave him an exasperated look.

“ _What_?”

“You weren’t exactly subtle when you kissed her in the Herald’s Rest, Cullen.”

He swallowed hard, his collar feeling tight again. “… You saw that?”

She wrung her hands together before turning to look out over the balcony. With a sharp intake of breath, she tugged at the knot holding her mask in place, behaving as though she hadn’t been able to breathe properly with it on.

“Yes, I saw it,” she said. “Most of it, anyway. It was going on for a rather long time and I didn’t particularly want to watch it all the way through. I tried to talk to you afterward, but she came to your tower before you did, all confident and naked. Very naked. Maker’s breath, she was ready. And then I saw the baby blanket you were knitting, and… I apologize for that part. I shouldn’t have gone prying into your personal life. It won’t happen a—”

“It’s not what you think.” Cullen took off his own mask and went to her side, his chest tightening painfully when she withdrew her hand before he could hold it. Instead, she gripped the mask’s ribbon tightly enough, he was surprised it didn’t snapped. “She’d won the game and wanted a kiss for her prize. I told you, remember? We gamble favors instead of money.”

He’d expected her to relax or look relieved, but her expression only hardened.

“A kiss takes a couple seconds. That was…” She shifted between her feet, still not meeting his eye. “That was considerably more.”

“Are you jealous?”

“No! Of course not. I’m not—Look, you’re not like Rylen. Or Bull. You don’t flirt and wink and flatter. You can barely even talk about relationships or sex without stuttering and blushing. You are dedicated and steadfast and private in every facet of your life, but _her—_ you kissed her in front of everyone. _Everyone_. So when you tell me that it meant nothing, I don’t think I can believe you.”

“I didn’t say it meant nothing.”

The mask slipped from her fingers. She caught it before it hit the ground and busied herself with looking it over while her cheeks darkened and she began to blink rapidly.

“It’s been years since someone’s wanted me in that way,” he said. He approached her again, more slowly this time, easing his hand toward her. “A beautiful woman asked to kiss me. I wanted to remember what that felt like. And it was nice. Nice, and _momentary_. Tavell’s a good woman and an excellent scout, but I’m not with her. Not then. Not now. As for the blanket you saw, it was made for my brother’s child. I have no lovers, Kate. I haven’t had a lover in years.”

“Truly?”

“Truly,” he said. “I am utterly unattached.”

 “So…” She finally looked up at him. “You—you don’t have anyone special?”

He smiled as he leaned towards her. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Her cheeks darkened another shade and she bit her lower lip. Their hands met on the balcony’s railing. She was near enough that the barest whisper of her breath tickled across his lips. He loosely twined their fingers. Barely daring to breathe, he leaned closer, wanting to ease the final traces of uncertainty from her face. She smiled faintly before something tugged her attention over his shoulder; she yelped before clasping her free hand over her mouth.

Cullen whirled around, drawing his sword as he turned.

“My most sincere apologies,” Zevran said. He grinned at the pair of them from where he was perched on the railing. Slipping down onto his feet, he dipped into an illustrious bow. “Leliana sent me to bring you, Lady Inquisitor, for a treaty discussion with the Empress.”

“ _Now?_ ” Cullen asked.

“Oh, yes,” Zevran said. “She was quite insistent that you come straight away. I tried to be surreptitious—alas, your eyes are far keener than I’d anticipated.”

Kaitlyn blush deepened. “So you were just going to watch?”

“Would you have preferred that I cheer?”

“I—no! That’s not what I meant.”

Zevran smiled warmly. “I know. And, I assure you, had anything _scandalous_ happened here, I would’ve absolutely stayed around to witness it. Only to make sure everything was done properly, you understand.”

“How generous,” Cullen grumbled.

“Indeed,” Zevran said. “I’m most generous in that regard. So, Lady Inquisitor, may I have the pleasure of escorting you back inside?”

Kaitlyn gave Zevran the most dignified pout Cullen had ever seen. “Tell her I’ll be there soon.”

“I am afraid I can’t do that,” Zevran said, still smiling. “I promised to escort you personally to Celene’s side. And _only_ you.”

Kaitlyn glanced to Cullen who shared her frustration. Their hands had parted when he’d reached for his sword, leaving a faint sense of loss in their wake. They’d been so close. If she had closed her eyes, if they had been standing somewhere else, he might have discovered what her lips felt like.

“All right, then,” Kaitlyn muttered. She crossed in front of Cullen, her hand brushing against his before she joined Zevran. Glancing back to Cullen even as Zevran started leading her back inside, she managed a faint smile before turning away again. He followed after the pair, shadowing them until they disappeared behind a door with several pairs of guards on either side.

“Come join the party, Commander,” Leliana said as she walked up to him.

“You knew what was going to happen, didn’t you.”

“I had my suspicions,” she said. “And what about you? Did you even spare a thought for how it would look if someone found you pinning the Inquisitor against a wall?”

“I wouldn’t pin her against a wall.”

“No? Then I’ve underestimated you.”

He glowered at her but her practiced and easy smile remained intact. She took ahold of his arm and led him away from the door, easily slipping into a conversation about the patterns of the dresses and the season’s berries while he could think of nothing but how Kaitlyn had looked at him under the starlight and how he’d almost _almost_ kissed her.


	28. Is this Real?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: depictions of withdrawal, talk of past trauma - canon typical

Cullen stared down at his lyrium kit. He felt its song crawling up his arms towards his ears where it would infest and infect and tear open his mind. Maker, he almost longed for it to happen. The submission would be a sweet release. For months, his resistance had grown easier, but now, caged inside a room at the Winter Palace, knowing that he was being watched by the same courtiers who’d pinched and prodded and provoked him the night before, the lyrium seemed like a safe haven. Like a salve that would numb the nightmares and the pain that was claiming him so fully.

His hands trembled as he opened the box. Instead of taking one of the bottles, he clenched the sides in a vague attempt to resist. Sweat ran down the side of his face; his entire body began to shake. He was burning. Burning like Andraste. If he waited any longer to douse the flames, there would be nothing left of him but ash.

_No._

The song was in him now, resounding in his mind with a pulsing beat that drowned out the rest of the world. Pain. So much Maker forsaken pain that he knew he was going to die. Any second now. He had to drink it. He _had_ to.

_No!_

He took one of the bottles into his hand and felt the liquid stirring within. Such a sweet song. Calling his name over and over and over. Kaitlyn’s voice. Clear and soft. Just as Amell’s voice had been when the demons had taken him.

“No!” he bellowed as he slammed the vial back into place before hurling the box against the wall in a frantic attempt to get it away from him. A sharp gasp of pain drew his head upwards.

Kaitlyn—agonizingly real—stood in the doorway with a hand on her right thigh. The faint green light between her fingers betrayed the injury she was healing; the injury he’d given her.

“Kate, I didn’t—!” He shot to his feet and immediately staggered to one side. The room tilted and spun. Her face blurred. The pain intensified until it blinded him. Every piece of him quivered. He crashed to his knees. The lyrium’s song continued, louder with each beat of his heart, suffocating him from the inside. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t remember his own name.

He was dying. Maker’s breath, he was _dying_.

“I’m with you,” a voice echoed from far away. Cold drove back the edge of his agony. He breathed in deeply, his mind clearing enough to let him open his eyes again. Kaitlyn knelt before him, her arms secure about his shoulders. One of her blessedly chilled hands rubbed soothing circles on the back of his neck. “I’m here, Cullen.”

The light tingling of healing magic lessened his torment by another degree. His breathing grew easy. His body relaxed enough to let him give himself fully to her embrace. Shame burned through him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were there. I’d never—I’d _never_ … Forgive me.”

“It’s all right.” She held him tight, her cheek pressed against his forehead. He couldn’t remember the last time someone held him this way. “I know it was an accident.”

“It’s not all right.” He clamped his eyes tight, wanting to pull away but unable to do anything but submit. “I never meant for this to interfere. I thought it would be easier. I thought—I thought I would be able to keep my mind, at the very least.”

“You have,” she said. “You’re still my commander. No one could do what you’ve done, Cullen. You saved dozens of lives at Haven. You’ve saved hundreds more since then. I know some of the mages haven’t made it easy for you, but they still know that you’re the right man for our military leader.”

He scoffed. “For whatever good it does. Promises mean nothing if I cannot keep them.” Straightening, he grabbed her shoulders. Without her touch, pain flared again, and all the tempers and frustrations and failures that came with. “You want to really know what happened at Kinloch Hold? The details? The names of all those who were slaughtered? Their ages? Their mothers’ names as they were cried out in despair? I watched them all. _All_. Templars. Mages. Those bastards didn’t care who were they were killing. Didn’t care that they kept me as a pet. Tortured me. They tried to break my mind and I—” A bitter laugh escaped him. “How can I be the same person after that? How am I supposed to keep going? Wake up every day like I didn’t watch my friends killed in front of me?”

“I…” Her voice came out weak and unsure, a deeply sympathetic grief filling her eyes along with the tears she was refusing to shed. “I don’t know.”

“I thought this would be better.” He let his head rest on her shoulder, the residual aches leaving him weak as his arms fell uselessly at his side. “That I would regain some control over my life, but these thoughts won’t leave me. How many lives depend on our success? I _swore_ myself to this cause. I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry. I should be taking the lyrium…” 

He glanced to the kit which had landed beside the door. _I should be taking it._

The room was silent as she wrapped her arms around him again. The gesture was more cautious than before but still gentle and tender and desperately needed. “Is that really what you want, Cullen? Forget about the Inquisition. If it was just you. If you were home, would you return to the Order’s ways?”

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Snow and fresh-baked bread. Maker, he loved that scent now. He breathed out, body shuddering as he said, “No. But these memories have always haunted me. If things become worse. If—if I cannot endure this…”

“You _can_.”

He looked up at her. She said it with such confidence. Such surety.

“You can, Cullen.” Her hand cupped his cheek.  Soft. What had he done to deserve such softness? “And while we may not know what you’re going through, Cassandra and I are here for you if you need us. As is Josephine and Leliana and Rylen and dozens and dozens of others. You don’t need to go through all of this by yourself. It’s all right to depend on others. To depend on me.”

“I… all right.” He scraped together a weak smile, but it didn’t reach the ache in his chest. Everything ached as though he’d just endured an intense fever while running straight from Redcliffe to Val Royeaux. “Why are you here?”

“There’s good news. We get to leave in a few hours. Josephine is already overseeing the packing.”

“So soon?”

“Are you disappointed?”

He scoffed. “Not even remotely. But are you truly finished here?”

“I am.” She stared at him intently. Her hand was still on his cheek. Still cool and comforting and unfairly wonderful. “You should rest while you can.”

“Rest. Yes. Rest would be good.” He needed to hold onto her arm when he got back to his feet. Even with her help, his knees threatened to give out beneath him.

“What can I do for you?”

“Nothing.” The word came out harder than he’d intended. He didn’t want her to see him like this. He didn’t want his past lashing out at her, dragging her into the darkness of his dreams. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”

She pursed her lips but didn’t argue. “You’ll tell me if you need anything, won’t you?”

“I will,” he lied. “You should go. I’m sure Leliana and Josephine have things to discuss with you.”

“They can wait.”

“No, they can’t. You know that.”

She tightened her hold, her brow furrowing with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. “I… Cullen, I…” She licked her lips before smiling stiffly. “I’ll come back later to check on you.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor.”

There was a slight twitch in her face at the use of the title before she smoothed it over by broadening her smile. She stayed with him until he was in the bed, then gathered up the lyrium kit and tucked it under her left arm. He didn’t miss the faint limp she tried to hide.

“I’ll see you later,” she said, lingering in the doorway.

“Goodbye.”

Cullen waited until she’d closed the door before curling up on his side, hoping that—for a few blissful hours—he’d be able to pretend he didn’t exist.

 

* * *

 

Cullen packed and joined the rest of the Inquisition well before Kaitlyn had the chance to see him again. His head clearer now, his shame continued to burn within him. Shame that the control he’d thought he had was a lie. Shame that he’d fooled himself so completely into thinking things would be different. How had he ever believed himself fit to lead? He was in the same condition as he’d been the day he’d met Kaitlyn—weak, slow, reliant on others for the simplest thing.

Pinching the skin between his eyes as the ghost of his previous headache returned, he slipped in among the regular soldiers and servants. The hood of his thick cloak obscured his face enough that no one questioned his presence or spared him a second glance for which he was grateful. He liked the walking. It cleared his head. Without having to travel besides the mages or templars, there was no lyrium to tempt him or remind him of that morning. Only the constant process of one foot in front of the other. Relaxing. Numbing. Perfect for thinking about what he needed to do, what he needed to say.

There was no call for him, no question at his absence when the Inquisition began its march back to Skyhold. Leliana’s work. He hadn’t told her anything, but she always knew.

One step in front of the other. Deep breaths of mountain air. Isolation on the edge of the camp at night. Restless dreams filled with memories of the Gallows. One step in front of the other. Thousands of them. Thousands upon thousands. He lost track of the number when he glimpsed the ruins of Haven. With the snows melted away, the ruined buildings jutted out like the ribcage of a carcass left to bleach out in the sun.

“Keep moving,” someone grunted behind him, prompting Cullen to quicken his step.

It was another full night and day of marching before Skyhold came into view. He fell to the back of the group, in no rush to return to his responsibilities. Perhaps Cassandra would serve better in the role. She had the respect of everyone and her reputation as Right Hand would only add to her standing.

“Commander.”

Cullen scowled at Leliana’s voice. She pulled up beside him on her black mare. A raven was perched on her left shoulder and she held a crumpled scroll in one of her hands.

“Spymaster.”

“Are you done playing now?”

“I wasn’t playing. I needed some time to think.”

“And have you finished thinking?” she asked. “There’s still the matter of the Wardens’ demon army to face. We are far from finished with our task.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“Then have you forgotten about our Inquisitor? She asked after you on several occasions. I told her you were scouting ahead to ensure the roads were clear.”

“Thank you,” he said begrudgingly.

“Don’t do it again. Trevelyan has come to depend on you. Your absence caused worry and that worry led to distraction. If we _had_ encountered any problems, that distraction might’ve proved fatal.”

“Your concern is truly touching, Leliana.”

Leliana frowned and slowed her horse. “She cares for you deeply.”

“And I, her.” Strange, how easy that was to admit now of all times.

“Then why did you not tell her where you were?”

“Because she’s safer with other people.” Part of him had always known it. What had happened in the Winter Palace was simply the physical proof.

“Don’t be a child, Rutherford. There is no such thing as safety in this world. Not truly. You must know that by now. No matter what you do, no matter how thick your walls or how strong your armor, there is always danger. Always risk. Thinking that you save her by being apart will only wound you both.”

He stopped to stare at her. “I thought you were against her and I being close. Something about the pair of us needing to make intimate alliances.”

“Only when in public. The idea of a marriage, the hint of a promise—that’s all you need to give away. Your heart is yours. It’s one of the very few things that truly belongs to us.”

“I don’t,” he started, struggling for the words. “We’re not—there’s nothing happening between—”

“Save it for someone else who might actually believe you,” she said. “Someone who hasn’t seen the way you two look at each other. No one in the Inquisition is going to be fooled. Especially not after rumors spread of what happened at Celene’s ball.”

Warmth blossomed across his face. He started to refute but she nudged her mare forward and was soon too far ahead to hear any excuse he might have scraped together. Grumbling under his breath, he made his way back to his room. Except for a touch of dust, nothing had changed. Strange. He’d expected… something. So much had happened in the past few weeks and yet there was nothing physical to mark the difference. Nothing he could hold and look at and measure.

He set his sole bag down beside his desk before crossing to the ladder. He wasn’t even on the second rung before someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” he said with a groan after he’d returned to the floor.

“You’re here.” Kaitlyn smiled when she stepped inside. Flecks of mud were splattered across her cheeks and her hair was windblown and wild. Maker, but she was beautiful. “Leliana told me you’d gone ahead. I tried to get here as fast as I could but I wasn’t able to find you and no one really seemed to know where you were and I was worried that maybe you’d—well, er, I don’t know what, really. Are you well, Cullen?”

He stood there, one hand on the ladder. “I… yes, I am. Much better than I was, at least.”

“Thank the Maker for that.” She approached him slowly. “Do you need anything? Have you eaten?”

“I’m fine. Simply tired.”

“Of course. Of course you’re tired. I, um, I’ll let you get some rest.”

He called to her when she turned to leave. “About what happened, what I did, it was—”

“An accident. I know that, Cullen.”

“No. That’s not good enough. I should’ve been better. I should’ve—I should have let go of that box a long time ago. I think it’d become such a habit to bring it with me that I never fully realized I could leave it behind.”

“That piece of your past is gone now.”

“Is it?”

“The scar might remain, but I believe the wound is healed.”

He smiled a little at the metaphor, his actual scars itching faintly at her words. “Perhaps. Before I forget, I have something for you.”

“Oh?” She hastened over to his side. Her eagerness would’ve made him grin on any other day.

“Your phylactery.” He went to his rucksack and pulled out the vial from where he’d tucked it safely away. “I shouldn’t have used it as I did, not without you knowing. I’m going to recommend that Ser Barris return all the phylacteries to the mages when I see him next. It’s not our duty to hold onto them. The mages should decide for themselves who keeps them—if anyone keeps them at all.”

She looked between his face and the bottle he held before carefully taking it from him. Holding it tight, she brought it up to her chest as though he’d given her a priceless gem. “Thank you, Cullen.”

He nodded weakly. She reached out to him and he pretended not to notice, walking back to the ladder with an exaggerated yawn. “Forgive me. If I don’t climb up now, I don’t think I’ll make it to my bed before I collapse.”

“I understand. We’ll talk later, though, won’t we?”

“We will,” he promised. “There’s… there’s something that I need to tell you.”

Kaitlyn smiled, lingering for a few seconds before she nodded, turned, and closed the door behind her.

 

* * *

 

Cullen wasn’t sure what time it was when he opened his eyes again. The skies above were grey and dull and dark and heavy with the scent of rain. Sitting up and rubbing at his eyes, he frowned at the light scraping sound coming from below.

“Hello?” he called out, not wanting to dump water on another innocent bystander.

“It’s just me,” Kaitlyn said back. “You slept through supper so I brought food.”

Cullen scrambled to put some fresh clothes on, quickly taming his curls with a dab of his hair cream before he hurried to the ladder. His hold slipped about halfway down and he tumbled to the bottom, barely catching himself before he tripped head-first onto the corner of his desk.

“Are you all right?” Laughter underlined the question.

“Fine. I’m absolutely fine. I simply, um.” He cleared his throat. Kaitlyn wore a pretty blue frock stitched with golden thread. Her hair was long enough that she’d tied it back into a bun, keeping it out of her lightly-powdered face. Her right hand was still on the tray of food she’d brought—roast chicken and herbed vegetables with several slices of bread.

“It’s not much,” she said. “Just what was left over.”

“It’s perfect.” He walked closer to her, his heart quickening when he raised a hand and placed it on the small of her waist. Her cheeks darkened as she glanced up at him in uncertainty. They each moved nearer to the other until the hand on her waist deepened into an embrace. “Thank you.”

“I had an ulterior motive.” One of her hands curled around the back of his neck. “I wanted to see you.”

He held her tight, his arms around her in the same way they’d been during their dance. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Yes?” She studied his lips and the hold on him tightened.

“I didn’t ride ahead of the rest.”

A faint frown marred her face.

“I marched at the back. It let me think and I… after what happened, I needed to clear my head.”

“What did you think about?”

Cullen rested his forehead on hers. Her hair smelled like the rain threatening to fall outside. “I decided that I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend that we’re simply commander and inquisitor. That we’re friends. I can’t… I want more than that with you, Kaitlyn. I want to _be_ with you. In every sense of that word. O-only if you want that too, of course. I don’t mean to, um, that is, I wouldn’t—”

Her lips were soft and warm and perfect, just as he’d always imagine they’d be. One of his hands slipped to the back of her neck before he angled his head for a deeper kiss. He couldn’t stop his groans when he ran his tongue along her lower lip and she opened her mouth to him without hesitation, their tongues brushing together. Shuddering, he held her closer. The last year had felt like an eternity of waiting. But now, _finally_ , she was in his arms, fingers tangling up in his hair, her lips sweet and seductive, body warm in his embrace.

“ _Kate_ ,” he managed out between heated kisses. She responded with a muffled moan and a tightening of fingers. The way her nails scraped along his scalp was bliss itself. She responded to his every touch, sighing and shuddering for more. Together, they stumbled around his desk before collapsing into his chair in a mess of limbs and laughter. Cullen cupped her cheek, smiling until his own cheeks ached.

She kissed him again, softer than before, as she laid a hand over his chest. He shivered, intensely grateful for the thinness of his shirt that let him feel her body. With their lips together, she murmured, “Tell me you want me.”

“I do,” he said without a second thought. Cradling her in his arms, he kissed her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her forehead, her neck, everywhere he could reach. “I want you.”

“More than anything?”

“More than anything.”

“I knew it.”

He frowned at the oddly layered nature of her voice. “Kate?”

“I knew you wouldn’t resist me. Not like this.”

He tried to pull away but one of her clamped down around his neck, forcing him to remain where he was. Her skin went from soft brown to cold purple. The hand around his neck tightened as the fingers over his chest tore through his shirt and bit into his skin, nails raking down the old scars from Kinloch Hold. He jerked away enough to see her golden eyes harden, the pupils narrowing to vertical slits while the rest of her face transformed to the desire demon who’d caged him so many years ago.

“You are always going to be mine, sweetling. You always have been.”

“No! _No!_ ” Cullen pushed forward, her form disappearing into mist. His body jerked of its own before something slammed against his side. He gasped and writhed, his mind slowly returning to him as he looked around. He lay on his floor, his blankets tangled up around him, utterly alone, while rain drizzled into his room from the broken roof. Shedding the blankets—ripping one of them in the process—he crawled over to his chamber pot and wretched into it. Sweat had soaked through his shirt and curled his hair. Climbing shakily onto his feet, he ripped the shirt off before looking for something to drink. Empty basin. Empty ale bottle. Fuck.

Scowling against the acidic taste clinging to the back of his throat, he rushed down the ladder and marched towards the main part of the keep. The rain fell on his shoulders and gathered in puddles around his bare feet. He welcomed each drop, barely bothering to ensure his breeches were fully on—the only thing he was wearing—before passing through the rotunda, crossing the empty main hall, and disappearing down towards the wine cellar.

He sorted through the various wines and ales and meads before picking a strong Avvaran rose mead and uncorking it with his teeth. He took several deep gulps. Breathing slowly through his nose, he rested his head against the stole wall for a few seconds then took another drink. Then another. And another. He clenched his eyes and wiped away the remaining traces of tears.

“Wasn’t real,” he murmured as he let the bottle dangle from his fingertips. “Wasn’t real. You’re safe now. Asalla. Alistair. Kirkwall. Meredith. Mai. Arishok. Anders. Cassandra. Leliana. Inquisition. Kaitlyn. _Fuck_.”

Taking the bottle with him, Cullen stepped back into the dark hallway. He scowled at the lights coming from underneath the door to the private library. Fucking guards. Never thinking about dousing the candles. One of these days, the building would catch fire and there’d be no more Skyhold to stay in.

He burst through the doorway, took a single step inside, and stopped.

Kaitlyn looked up at him in wide-eyed surprise. A cookie dangled from between her lips as she held a large book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. She didn’t move and neither did he.

“I-Inquisitor.”

She set the book and wine aside, her cheeks darkening as she popped the rest of the cookie into her mouth and sheepishly wiped the crumbs from her face. “Is something wrong?” she asked around her cookie-filled cheek.

He stared at her. She wore loose, oversized pajamas, her hair wet and in tangled curls around her face. A few missed crumbs clung to the corners of her mouth. Within three steps, he’d crossed the room, pulled her up from her chair and held her to him. “Are you real?”

She stiffened for a heartbeat before her arms wrapped around him. One of her hands rubbed along the back of her neck as she’d done at the Winter Palace. “It’s me,” she said softly. “This is real.”

His hold tightened as he buried his face into her neck. Snow, fresh bread, soap.

“What happened?”

“Nightmare,” he mumbled.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

She rubbed his back and something soft brushed along his temple. A kiss, perhaps?

“Tell me again,” he said, “that you’re real.”

“I’m real, Cullen. I’m here.” She patiently continued to rub his back and hold him with soft assurances of, “This is real. I’ve got you. You’re in the Inquisition now. You’re safe.”

“And earlier, with the phylactery, that really happened, didn’t it?”

“Yes, I have it.”

“And the ball? We danced?”

“We did.”

“We almost kissed.”

She paused. “We did.”

He pulled away slightly. “Your leg, does it hurt?”

“No. It was a small bruise. Accidentally bumping into a table or desk would’ve hurt more.”

With a weak smile, he touched her cheek. Her skin was wonderfully soft compared to his calloused hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” She covered his hand with one of her own. “You don’t need to keep apologizing for it.” 

“Not just for that. For avoiding you these past days.” He told her about how he’d marched within the company and his reasons for it. “I should’ve talked with you instead. Told you where I was at the very least.”

Kaitlyn squeezed his hand. “Are things getting worse for you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. That moment at the palace was the worst it’s ever been. And then that dream… I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

“If you can’t, then don’t.”

He frowned. “That’s hardly fair. _You_ couldn’t step down if you wanted to. I don’t see why I should have that chance.”

“Life’s not fair. I don’t see why this should be any different.”

Chuckling softly, his hold on her softened. “I’ve never thought about life beyond the Inquisition. I don’t even know what I’d do.”

“Stay,” she said. She squeezed his hand again. “Even if you decide to step down, _stay_. Train soldiers, or advise your replacement, or—or start breeding mabari. Whatever you choose, just stay here. With… with the Inquisition.”

“The Inquisition?”

“Me,” she whispered. “Stay here with me.”

Cullen reached out blindly to the side, keeping his eyes on her as he felt around for a shelf to place his bottle on. His hand emptied, he placed it on the small of her back and pulled her close to him. His other hand shifted lower on her face, his thumb brushing away the last of the crumbs there before running along the edge of her bottom lip. “Is this real?”

“I certainly hope so. Cullen…” Her gaze shifted between his eyes and his lips, her hands still on his back. But now, instead of soothing him, they made his skin tingle at her touch. She shifted closer. There was a faint quiver in her as she stared at him. “Kiss me. Please.”


	29. Too Much to Ask

Kaitlyn stared up at Cullen, feeling one missed breath away from fainting. Her head was light and her knees trembled faintly as one of her hands moved to the back of his neck. His lips were full of the scent of mead and she knew they’d taste sweet. “Kiss me?” she asked again, voice shaking as she did so. Her insides twisted with a delightful ache that intensified with every frantic beat of her heart.

He shifted closer, his thumb still running along the bottom of the lips he was studying. The candlelight darkened his brown eyes and turned his curls to golden flame. Standing shirtless before her, she had the intense desire to feel along the expanse of his skin, to touch all of his scars as he told her their stories. When he licked his lips, her breath hitched. Warmth spread through her body, leaving her tingling with anticipation. Leaning forward, she closed her eyes.

No kiss came.

“I’m sorry.”

She blinked. The warmth turning to ice in the instant Cullen began to pull away from her. No. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not when they were so close.

“Cullen!” She latched onto his arm, trying not to cling too tight. “Why not? What’s stopping you?”

“You’re the Inquisitor. We’re at war. And you—I can’t. I can’t do this, Kaitlyn.”

“But _why_? Please. Please just tell me why.” She followed him, her hold on his arm growing weaker as her mind raced for a reason. “Is it because of your nightmare?”

“No.” He didn’t look at her when he pulled his arm free and started towards the door again.

“Wait!” Her heart was caving in on itself, the earlier ache now strangling her from within. She hurried forward to remain at his side. “Lyrium. It’s the lyrium, isn’t it? You don’t have to worry about that with me, Cullen. I stopped taking it nearly four months ago. There’s no—”

“You _what_?”

She took a reflexive step back at the harsh tone.

“You’ve been out in the battlefield without lyrium?!”

“I… yes.”

“Have you gone mad? After a year of being Inquisitor, do you still not understand the importance of your position? The necessity of your survival?”

“It’s not as though I’ve been hurling myself into the Deep Roads.”

“But you _have_ been fighting Darkspawn,” he said. “And dragons. And bandits. And a thousand other things that could’ve killed you just as easily.”

“And they could’ve killed me even if I _was_ taking lyrium. It’s why I never travel alone. Why I carry health potions and grenades. Entire armies have been at my back.”

“It’s not the same! You’ve been isolated before and it could happen again. Why would you do that, Kaitlyn? Why would do something so foolish?”

She wrapped an arm around herself. “Why do you think?”

“No…” He shook his head, backing away from her. “Not because of me. _Please_ don’t say it was because of me.”

“I certainly didn’t do it for Leliana.” She swallowed hard, her body growing heavy as her emotions raced ahead of her understanding. “I thought… I thought you would…”

“What? You thought what? That I’d be happy you’re risking your life even more than before? Do you know what that would feel like? Maker’s breath, Kate. If you’d died out there because you’d exhausted yourself, it would’ve happened because of _me_. You would’ve died _because of me_.”

“And what of my feelings?” she snapped back. “Do you know what it’s like to watch you suffering every day and having to _encourage_ you to keep going through that pain because there’s hope you’ll be better in the end? There are times when I _want_ you to take lyrium just so you can have a day when you’re not in agony, but I haven’t done that because I know it would destroy you in much deeper ways. And because I know you made that choice for the right reasons. And I respected that choice. I respect it now. If I die it’s because the enemy was better than I was.

“Do you _really_ want me to take lyrium again, Cullen? Because if I do, it means that we can never be together without it hurting you, or we can never be together at all. And, to be perfectly candid, _fuck_ both of those options. I wanted a different choice so I did what I thought was best to make it happen.”

“It’s not worth your life.”

“I think it _is_ worth the risk. You’ve put yourself in far more danger for me.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s my duty, as your commander, to protect you and those who serve you. The Inquisition can afford my loss; it can’t afford yours.”

“Is that what you want then? Hmm? Do you want to be my commander but nothing else? Because that’s the only way that I’ll even consider taking lyrium again.”

The anger in his expression softened. “What I want most is… is for you to stay alive.”

She leaned against the nearby bookshelf, her legs growing weaker with each passing moment. She wanted to curl into a ball, close her eyes, and wake up from whatever nightmare this was.

“So this is it?” she asked. “All this time, coming so close, and—and this is where it ends? A week ago, you were ready to kiss me. Andraste’s blood, you practically _did_ kiss me. Has so much really changed since then?”

“… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t—don’t say that! I don’t want you to be sorry, I…” She pushed past him, eyes stinging and chest growing tight as it always did right before she cried. He was right about one thing: she _had_ been foolish. No one had ever wanted her before. Loved her before. Ridiculous, thinking that could change now.

Her name echoed on the stones behind her, and she quickened her step. She didn’t slow at the door to her wing, nor did she falter on the flights of stairs. Only when her door was latched, the halls silent, moonlight her sole companion, did she fall to her knees and weep.

 

* * *

 

Kaitlyn was numb as she stood at the war table with the advisors. Leliana had seem none too pleased with having Morrigan join their council but Cullen, Cassandra, and Josephine had offered the mage a civil, if strained, greeting. Beyond that, Kaitlyn paid little mind to the other people around her. She listened to their council and responded to every question they put to her, but through it all she kept her head down and her eyes locked on the map.

“Still no word on the Wardens,” Leliana said to finish up their meeting. “With chevaliers coming from Orlais, we’ll soon have an army to take them if needed. In the meantime, we’ve doubled our training schedules for the soldiers we already have and Asalla and Alistair are going to see if they can find any more Wardens in hiding that would join our side.”

“Would it help for me to go with them?” Kaitlyn asked, hoping Leliana would say yes.

“The two of them can travel much faster on their own. You still have several prisoners to decide what to do with—including our red templar friend from South Reach—more meetings with several members of the Orlesian court, and your brothers.”

Kaitlyn blinked at that. “My brothers?”

“They’ve requested a visit,” Josephine said. “You _did_ want to see them, didn’t you?”

“I—yes. They’re here?”

“Not yet,” Josephine said. “But they sent a letter ahead. It will likely be another week before they arrive.”

“ _Only_ my brothers?”

Josephine and Leliana shared a look before Leliana said, “As far as we know.”

“Good.” Kaitlyn nodded. “That’s good. Is that all?”

“For now,” Cassandra said. “I suggest you relax while you can. I doubt any of us will get any rest when the Orlesians arrive.”

Kaitlyn smiled weakly. The door opened behind her and Morrigan and Cassandra left. Leliana whispered something to Josephine before walking after them. Josephine lingered as her quill scratched across parchment. _He_ hadn’t moved. His blue jacket was stuck in the corner of her vision and she didn’t dare look up until he was gone. She leaned over the map, pretending to study the various placement of all their markers.

“Inquisitor,” he said, “I was hoping we could talk… alone.”

Josephine stopped and glanced up. “I’ll leave you t—”

“No,” Kaitlyn said. “We’ll be the ones to leave. Thank you, Josephine.”

She turned, eyes still down in avoidance, and started walking through the keep. Cullen followed beside her, saying nothing as she started up onto the battlements. She was beginning to think that he’d decided to forgo talking altogether when he said, “It’s, uh, a nice day.”

“Mm. There was something you wanted to tell me.”

“I finally went to the healers and told them about my… situation with the lyrium.”

She stopped and glanced at him. “And?”

“It seems that that day in the Winter Palace, when you found me, it was the final dregs of the lyrium leaving my body.”

“But you stopped taking it over a year ago. I thought it would’ve left ages ago.”

He gave her a weak, almost apologetic, smile. “You forget: templars take a large amount every day whether it’s needed or not. Thirteen years of doing that, I’m more surprised that it’s gone at all.”

“You don’t look as happy as I’d thought you’d be. This is what you’ve been working for, isn’t it? What you wanted?” Hand to the Maker, she hadn’t meant to spit out those last few words but they’d left her, lined with the ache still residing in her chest.

“It is. It _was_. I… I suspected it would happen, but—it seems that all of my abilities have left me along with the lyrium. It means I won’t be as effective in battle. I won’t be able to…” He trailed off before shaking his head. “Regardless, my hands are shaking less often. My headaches have lessened as well.”

She couldn’t manage a smile. Leaning against the nearest solid thing, she lightly crossed her arms, scraping together a feeble, “That’s really good news, Commander. You… you should be proud of your accomplishment. Is that all you wanted to say?”

“No, it’s not. I wanted you to be the first person I told about the lyrium, but it’s not the main topic.” He stepped closer to her. “I lied earlier. Last night, in the library, I lied. I said that what I wanted most is your survival. But that’s not true. I mean, it’s not _not_ true. I do want you to live, obviously. But equal to that, I… I _want_ to be able to hold you when you’re upset and kiss you when you’re happy. I _want_ to spend hours talking to you and getting to know you as you get to know me in turn. There are so many things I want in this life, Kate. And the ones dearest to me all seem to include you.

“Last night, I let my fears and worries and doubts get the better of me. For such a long time, I didn’t think that it was possible that anything could happen between us. And then I feared that you’d seen too much of me to ever want to be part of my life, but…” He took another step. With her back against the parapet, his large frame surrounded her space without invading it. “If you’re still willing, Kate, I would very much like to kiss you.”

“I…” Kaitlyn bit down on her lower lip when it began to quiver. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“So you are.” One of his hands came up and gently cupped her cheek, making her breath hitch. His touch made his words _real_. The arm wrapping around her waist solidified his words in her heart as he drew closer still. “It seems like too much to ask. But I want to…”

She reached out, her hesitancy yet lingering, before she wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, the other holding to the lapel of his jacket. Warmth flared inside her chest and everything seemed to slow as she focused on him. The small wrinkles in the corners of his eyes which deepened whenever he smiled as he was smiling now. The loose curl of hair falling down across his forehead. The light scruff that always managed to grow ahead of his razor. The scent of oakmoss on his skin coupled with the hint of sweet wine on his breath. She watched him until the last moment, her eyelids lowering in time with his until that initial brush of lips made her heart pound like it never had before.

“Inquisitor?” someone called out from the right. “I have a report from Lady Montiliyet. She had an update from, uh…”

Kaitlyn turned and glared at the intruding scout as Cullen snarled, “Can’t you see she’s busy?”

“I—y-yes, Commander. M-my apologies, Inquisitooor.” The word stretched out into a yell as he turned and began tripping his way down the nearest set of steps.

“No one ever gives us a damned minute,” Cullen grumbled, his face adorably red. “Maybe we should—”

The kiss was not particularly romantic. Her eyes were clenched shut, lips pressed hard on his. The hand on the back of his neck slipped upwards into the soft curls of his hair. A slight sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, escaped her throat when she caught the taste of his lips: a heady taste lined with that sweet wine. She was breathing hard when she pulled away, a faint tingling flooding through her as continued to study his lips, wanting nothing more than to kiss them again.

“Sorry,” she murmured, not meaning it. “I didn’t want to… risk getting, um, interrupted again.”

He nodded vaguely but his expression remained dazed, body unmoving from where she’d let him go.

She glanced up to his eyes once before brushing her lips against his again. A shiver ran through her at the teasing touch and Cullen responded in kind, his eyes closing with the faintest groan. For this second kiss, she took her time, exploring the soft fullness of his lips, before tentatively running the tip of her tongue along the seam of his mouth. Every new experience flooded her with sensation. The warmth of him. The slight tickle of his loose curl when it touched her forehead. The wonderfully familiar scents of oakmoss and elderflower. The faint sparks of pleasure fizzling throughout her body. The way his scar felt beneath her lips and tongue. The playful scrape of his teeth on her lips.

Maker’s breath. No wonder people liked kissing.

When she pulled away, Cullen followed her. His hold returned with one hand pressed to the small of her lower back, the other cradling the back of her head. He groaned again, loud and distinct, as he tilted his head and made her knees tremble with a searing kiss. His tongue slid into her mouth when she sighed, making her toes curl and her breath faint. She clung to him, certain she’d fall if he wasn’t holding her while they continued to kiss and taste and touch until they were panting breathlessly, foreheads pressed together.

One of his hands came around to caress her cheek. She took hold of the other one, holding it beneath her chin while they stood in the sun, their eyes closed, lips tingling from what they’d shared.

Seconds passed into minutes. Slowly, she opened her eyes to look at him. His eyes remained closed, a warm smile casting him in a look of utter contentment. Sunlight set his blond hair blazing into a deep gold. There was more color in his face than there had been before, and some of the lines which marked the years of torment seemed to have faded for the moment. Another few strands of his hair had pulled free from his mane, leaving his hair neither straight nor curled. She’d never seem him look so relaxed. Or so happy.

Squeezing his hand, she leaned up and kissed him again. Softly, this time. Slow and gentle. Savoring each gasp and sigh and thrill while their lips met and parted and met again under the midday sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by therealmcgee. Made for this story and posted here with knowledge and consent. Please do not repost anywhere.


	30. Shattered Expectations

Kissing is addictive.

In the years since his last real attempt at a relationship, Cullen had forgotten how incredible a simple kiss could feel. The warmth of Kaitlyn’s body when she pressed herself against him. The soft sounds she made at the brush of his tongue. The hooded, half-focused way she looked when they finally parted. How eager she seemed for his attentions. For him.

Cullen groaned freely when Kaitlyn ran her nails along his scalp, doing nothing to hide the way his body shuddered and grew excited under the simple touch. His hands remained on her hips, more than content with his position pressed against the wall, Kaitlyn standing on her tiptoes to keep control of the kiss.

Their meetings always started in this fevered state; their moments together stolen between appointments and meals. Sometimes, he would be the one to ease her into a private corner, lips itching to feel hers, to memorize their taste and shape until his world narrowed down to the woman in his arms—the woman he was continually falling in love with. And sometimes, like now, she would be the one who pressed him against the nearby wall, the report she’d meant to share abandoned on the floor, her fingers running up his chest until they wound through his curls, her kisses insistent and hungry like she was making up for a lifetime of missed affection.

His thoughts clouded in a blissful haze, he barely managed out, “Leliana wanted a… meeting… before lunch.”

“We must have ten more minutes before that,” Kaitlyn murmured before giving him another kiss that made his knees tremble and his will weak. “Five, at least.”

He chuckled, savoring her smile for another few moments before reluctantly pulling away. “I’d rather not earn her ire if possible. If I vex her too much, she’ll likely create more work for me. Then I’d never be able to spend that time with you.”

She pouted a little, her lust-bitten lips giving the expression a sensual edge. Groaning, he ran a hand through his hair, trying to resist his desire to stay there with her even as he clasped her hand and kissed her forehead.

“Later,” he promised. “When the meeting’s over, we’ll continue all of this.”

“If you say so.” She squeezed his hand before reaching up to right his hair. He fixed her scarf and jacket in return, still unable to believe that she was really in his arms and in his life. They continued like that for another minute or two, righting their appearances until they walked together towards the war room. Morrigan was already there, down on one knee as she spoke to a boy who seemed to be around ten years of age. A Warden’s crest adorned his chest, his clothes well-fitted and free from dirt.

“Go play in the gardens, little man,” Morrigan told him. “I’ll be along shortly.”

“Yes, mother,” he said. He walked towards the door, paused to look at Kaitlyn’s hand, smiled, then continued on as Leliana, Cassandra, and Josephine stepped inside.

“Kieran, wasn’t it?” Kaitlyn asked Morrigan.

“Just so.”

“Is he comfortable here? I know we don’t have a lot of accommodations for children.”

“Kieran is no ordinary child,” Leliana said over Morrigan. “I’m sure the Inquisition is providing more than sufficient entertainment.”

The two women exchanged a heavy look before Leliana continued around the table to take her place at the map. Cullen cleared his throat and followed suit, staying close enough to Kaitlyn to let their fingertips meet underneath the table. Considering the amount of soldiers and scouts who’d walked in on them, Cullen doubted there was a single soul in all of Skyhold who didn’t know about their growing relationship. All the same, he thought it best to put on a professional front. Leliana certainly pursed her lips less often when he did.

“Asalla and Alistair have finally written back about the other Wardens they’ve found as well as what’s going on in Adamant. They’ve started the return ride here and, in the meantime, we’ll need to begin preparations for attack.”

“Already?” Kaitlyn asked. “We barely got back from the Winter Palace.”

Leliana nodded and pointed out the fortress on the map. “This will be the first time we’ve traveled with the bulk of our army which means that our marching speed is considerably slower. On top of that, we need provisions and elfroot and horses and a thousand other things before we can even set out. Celene has promised to supplement our forces—we can either for them to join us or risk it with the numbers we have. Either way, we need to decide soon.”

“How many Wardens is Surana bringing?” Cullen asked.

“Only a dozen or two,” Leliana said. “Most have either joined Clarel or disappeared completely.”

“Surana must be furious.”

Leliana’s expression darkened, the map crumpling when her fingers clenched together. “She and Alistair rebuilt the Fereldan Wardens from the ground up. The only reason this kingdom _has_ Wardens anymore is because of them. And now they’ve been betrayed. Again. So yes, I imagine Asalla is quite livid with them all.”

Cullen frowned when Kaitlyn went rigid at his side. He thread his fingers through hers and held her hand tight. The responsibilities and pressures Asalla mirrored Kaitlyn’s. As did the risks. But it wouldn’t end the same way. Kaitlyn wouldn’t be betrayed. He wouldn’t let it happen.

The rest of the meeting continued with a barrage of details and mundane conversations about the things they’d need to obtain and how they’d go about doing it. Cassandra was the only one who kept looking to where Cullen and Kaitlyn’s hands were, a faint smile and blush appearing every time she did. It made him self-conscious but he didn’t relinquish her hand. At least when they went to Adamant, they’d be able to go together this time.

“Your brothers sent another message,” Josephine said to Kaitlyn while the other women started making their way out of the room. “They’ll be arriving within the day.”

“Why didn’t they tell me that directly?”

“They did, actually. Or they sent you some message, at any rate.” Josephine shuffled through a few papers on the writing board she carried. “I’d meant to hand these over to you earlier, but the man I sent to find you said you two were… engaged.”

Cullen’s already warm cheeks burned deeper when Kaitlyn ran her thumb along the back of his hand, a subtle smile struggling to hide from her face.

“For me as well?” he asked when Josephine handed him a small stack of letters.

“Mostly from Orlesian nobles who are interested in getting to know you better.” Josephine snickered at Cullen’s disgusted grunt. “I already threw out the ones that lacked any sense of tact or taste, but you shouldn’t dismiss the others out of hand.”

“I won’t,” he lied, accepting the bunch from her. The over-perfumed paper made his nose wrinkle as he glanced through them. “This one’s for you, Kate. Don’t know w—”

“Hmm?” She leaned over his shoulder before snatching the letter from his frozen hand. “I didn’t think she’d write back so soon.”

Cullen blinked a few times before slowly turning to double check the handwriting and name written on the back of the letter. “Kate?”

“Yes?” she asked as she broke the familiar seal.

“Why do you have a sister from my letter? I mean, a letter from my sister?”

“It’s far from the first.”

“ _What?_ ”

She glanced to him with a raised eyebrow. “What’s wrong with the two of us exchanging letters?”

“Well—that is, um—nothing’s _wrong_ with it. I just… do you two talk about me?”

“You may have come up from time to time.” She glanced around the room once, presumably to see if they were alone, before pressing herself up close to his side. “Why? Are you curious?”

“A little.”

“Just a little? Hmm, I don’t think ‘a little curious’ is enough to know what our topics of conversation are. Too bad, really. Considering our last few letters, I’m sure there’s at least one or two details about you in here.”

Cullen stared at the paper in her hands, feeling the blood drain from his cheeks as he thought of all the things Mia might say about him. But she wouldn’t, would she? Mia wouldn’t reveal anything embarrassing about him.

Mia would revel in doing that.

Clearing his throat, he eased closer to her, forcing the biggest smile that he could before he snatched at the letter. Kaitlyn laughed when she dodged the attempt. She tucked the letter behind her back, beaming up at him.

“Now, now, Commander, that wasn’t very polite of you.”

“I… please, at least tell me what she’s said about me. In—in case she exaggerated or misremembered.”

“How about this: you can race me for it.”

“Race you?”

“Mmhmm.” She stepped backwards towards the door. “Race me, Commander.”

With that, she turned and bolted out the door. Cullen watched her back for a split second before he took off after her. Josephine made a passing remark as they tore past, but he was too caught up in the chase to give pause. He ran after Kaitlyn’s back, reaching out to her when they reached the main hall. His fingertips grazed the back of her shirt before she fade-stepped out of grasp.

“That’s cheating!” he yelled, not caring a single jot for the looks their display earned. He was laughing. Laughing harder than he had in years as they burst through the door to the eastern wing and he sprinted up the stairs to her private room.

“It’s not ‘cheating’ if I’m the Inquisitor,” she called back, her laughter echoing off the walls and mixing with his. “It’s ‘strategy!’”

When she made it into her room proper, she slammed the door behind her, forcing him to slow an extra second. Stumbling inside, he chased her around her four-poster bed until she slipped behind another door—the one with a ladder to the loft—and latched it behind her. He heard the sounds of her boots scraping along the wooden rungs. Turning to the side, he latched onto the top of her bedframe, testing his weight against the structure before hauling himself on top of it. The bed wobbled slightly but held fast as he used it to climb onto the loft’s ledge just as Kaitlyn was emerging.

“Caught you,” he panted, grinning at her.

“How did you—” With a shake of her head, she stuck out her tongue and slid down the ladder. He jumped after her, taking her hand before she could unlatch the door.

“The letter?”

She pressed her back against the wall, the letter tucked behind her in her free hand. “ _Never_.”

“That’s not very honorable of you, Inquisitor. Going back on your word.”

“I said that you could race me for it. I didn’t say where we’d be racing to.”

“Enlighten me,” he said, narrowing the distance between them. “Where’s the finish line?”

She tapped the door to her back. He moved closer still, placing his palms on either side of her shoulders. The light filtering in overhead was perfect for seeing the way her cheeks darkened when he leaned down towards her neck.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered against her skin. Her heartbeat fluttered beneath his lips. 

She arched her neck and managed a breathless, “Don’t hold back on my account.”

“Hmmm, but I also want that letter.” Cullen skimmed his lips across her pulse, smirking when she shuddered under the simple touch.

She turned her head, catching the shell of his ear with her teeth. “Then I suppose we’re both going to be disappointed.”

Cullen’s left hand clenched into a fist as he struggled against the temptation to kiss her anyway. A struggle he lost with a grin on his face. After he gave a gentle tug to pull away the scarf around her throat, he pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss against her skin. The letter slipped from her fingers with a dull thud, her hands clutching for his back instead. He watched from the corner of his eye as her lips parted in a soundless moan.

He needed to start kissing her neck far more often.

“ _Kate_ ,” he groaned beside her ear before kissing her neck again. And again. Her knees went limp as she clung to his jacket to keep herself upright, a growing tremble to her body. With one hand on the small of her back, he used the other to feel around for the latch.

Kaitlyn yelped softly when the door at her back swung open. Keeping her tight against his chest, he smiled and murmured an apology before easing her towards the bed. She gasped out his name and his breath caught in return. His knees weakened with every step until they collapsed, sending them both sprawling onto her bed, his legs between hers, their arms tangled around the other.

One of her hands eased up into his hair before she tugged him away from her neck to claim him with a searing kiss. His thoughts fizzled away as pleasure replaced sense, his body sinking into the warmth of hers. Each brush of her lips and taste of her tongue both fed and fueled his desire for more. With one arm above her head to bear his weight, the other wandered from her waist up towards the side of her breast. Maker preserve him. He wanted to share everything with this woman.

“We haven’t—” His voice cracked and he had to shake his head to clear the headiness her kisses gave. “We haven’t had the chance to talk about, er, that is…”

“What is it?” Her eyes were dark as she stared up at him, fingers still teasing through his curls. She shifted slightly on the bed and he had to shut his eyes when her hips rocked up against his.

He mentally counted to three before trying again. “We haven’t really had a chance to talk about, well, _intimacy_ yet.” His cheeks burned at his own words. Yes. Wonderful. Acting like an inexperienced youth was sure to spark her desire. Maybe he should trip on his own shoes just to be sure.

“… Oh.”

Cullen frowned at the barely whispered word. Her hands began to withdraw from him as she looked away. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing. It’s just that I, um, I’ve never…” She moved out from under him, cheeks continuing to darken as she shifted to a corner of the bed. The farthest corner.

Clearing his throat again, he moved into a sitting position, adjusting his trousers as he went in a vain attempt to disguise how aroused he’d become. “You’ve never been with anyone before.”

She lifted her shoulders in the vaguest of shrugs, still not looking at him. “It’s more than that. I’ve never—Maker’s breath, I didn’t think this was going to be so hard to say out loud.”

“Take your time.”

She spared him a glance and a smile. “Cullen, you’re my first… everything. It isn’t as simple as me never being with someone. I’ve—” Puffing out a deep breath, she ran a hand through her mussed hair. “I’ve never even _wanted_ to be with someone before. In any way. Well, I suppose that’s not entirely true. I told you about Andrew in my Circle, but the feelings I had for him—it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t anything _close_ to this.”

He took her hand, an odd sense of pride mixing with hesitation. “Did I go too far?”

“No!” Finally, she turned to him. “No, this last week has been wonderful. But moving forward, I don’t… I don’t know. I’ve _never_ … I don’t know how things were in the Circles you’ve served in, but mine was very _open_. Physically. It’s not simply a lack of opportunity. I had offers, but the whole process was—the very idea of it left me feeling uneasy. Almost repulsed.”

“Oh,” he said. “I see.”

Kaitlyn squeezed his hand, harder this time. “I’m sorry. I know that isn’t what you wanted to hear.”

“It’s fine.”

She withdrew again and he wanted to hit his head against one of the bedposts.

“I mean that, Kaitlyn.” He walked around to her side of the bed—a rather embarrassing feat as his cock was not listening to his brain. She didn’t move away when he sat beside her and he took the chance to hold her hand again. “If you want to go slow, then we’ll go slow.”

“And what if I never want anything more? I’ve liked what we’ve done so far. Andraste forgive me, but I think I’ve liked it far more than I’m supposed to”—he couldn’t help but smile at that—“but what if that’s it? What if we get to that point and I don’t want to go further?”

“Then we won’t go further.”

She narrowed her eyes at him before her gaze dropped to the bulge between his legs.

“We won’t,” he said again. “Kaitlyn Trevelyan, I want you in my life, not my bed. More than that, I want you to be happy when you’re with me. If that means that we don’t sleep together, that’s what it means.”

Slowly, she rested her head on his shoulder. When he wrapped his arms around her, she shifted with him so she was all but sitting in his lap. He kissed her temple, letting the moments pass until the tension eased from her body.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Another few seconds ticked by before she moved again. She kissed his cheek. Then the other. Then she kissed his lips with such intense sincerity and longing that he felt his heart crack. “You’re a better person than you give yourself credit for, Cullen Stanton Rutherford.”

“I appreciate the thought,” he said, one hand absently rubbing her back, “but I know who I am.”

She blinked, then frowned at him. “I don’t say that lightly. This last year, getting to know you—it hasn’t always been smooth. Maker knows that there were times that my anger wanted to throttle you for some of the things you’ve said. You probably felt the same on more than one occasion. But I’ve watched you, Cullen.” She paused, her frown deepening. “That sounded creepier than I’d intended. I only mean that you’re better than you realize. Stronger. Kinder. Your acts of generosity and your desire to help those around you hasn’t gone unnoticed. You are a _good_ man, Cullen. Perhaps the best man I’ve ever met.”

He stared at her, unsure of what to say. She seemed so certain of her words, like they’d been carved into mountainsides and told and retold through the centuries. “… Then why do you look so upset?”

With a heavy sigh, she buried her face into his neck and tightened her embrace. “Because there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. And you’re going to be angry at me when I do, so I’ve been putting it off. But it’ll only get worse if I keep waiting.”

“Whatever you need to tell me, I won’t be angry.”

“You will be.” The words were so soft, he barely caught them. She pulled away, a hint of tears shimmering in her eyes. “You’ll be furious with me. I can only hope that this won’t… change how things are now. Not permanently, anyway.”

He touched her cheek. A single tear slipped down onto his hand when she closed her eyes and leaned into the touch. Brushing it aside, he said, “Tell me.”

Kaitlyn opened her mouth, shook her head, pulled away from him, and started pacing the floor. She wrung her hands together, her entire body starting to fidget.

“What is—”

“Anders is here.”

Everything inside Cullen went cold. His body locked into place as he felt rage coursing through his veins, a deep fury he had only experienced twice before in his life. “What do you mean that bastard’s here? How the _fuck_ could Anders be in the Inquisition?”

“He was a Warden before Kirkwall. Asalla brought him.”

“… That hooded Warden. Right before you left for the Western Approach. That was him?”

She nodded.

“And you knew? You _allowed_ it? After everything he’s done?”

She stuttered for a few seconds. “I didn’t know at first. It was after we’d cleared out a group of bandits in the Western Approach. One of them tore Anders’s robes off before Alistair took him down. I was the first time I’d seen his face and… and that’s when Asalla told me who he was.”

“That was months ago.”

“It was.”

“You knew where he was for months and never bothered to tell me?! Forget me, what about Kirkwall? That city is _still_ rebuilding and recovering from the chaos he caused.”

Her hands began to wring together again.

“Tell me, Kaitlyn. Tell me why you didn’t let anyone else know.” He got to his feet, the memories of the broken bodies and burning buildings filling his thoughts until he could smell the stench all over again. “Well? Should I describe the horrors he caused? The bodies I pulled out of the rubble? That part isn’t in Varric’s book, is it. The aftermath. The death. You must realize it wasn’t simply the Chantry he destroyed. That magic he used affected the entirety of Kirkwall. When the pieces of the building finally came down, they rained down over _everyone_. Hightown, Darktown—nothing escaped the blast. For fuck’s sake, there were even pieces found on the Wounded Coast. Thousands died, Kaitlyn. _Thousands_. Even more than that were left without homes and families. Children were orphaned. The only functioning orphanage in the city had existed in the Chantry and they couldn’t go there anymore. Ferelden was still recovering from the Blight and wouldn’t take them. If not for Aveline, they would’ve starved to death crying out for their lost parents. That was Anders’s doing. All of it. Good men and women and children died because of him. Friends of mine. Corpses lining the streets. Starvation. Terror. Mistrust on every side. So tell me why you protected him. _Tell me!_ ”

Her lip quivered when she spoke. “I’m not protecting _him_. I’m protecting the Inquisition.”

“And what does that mean?”

“If the world found out that he was working with the Inquisition, every possible outcome or consequence is a bad one. If I executed or punished him, the people who see him as a hero would stop supporting us. If I pardoned him or gave him too light a sentence, those who see him as a villain would stop supporting us. The mere knowledge that he’s with us now could lose us allies.”

“Which is the exact reason why you should’ve thrown him out the instant you discovered who he was! Don’t tell me you’re protecting the Inquisition when he’s still here.”

“I—” She stammered again, mouth open with no words coming out.

“Tell me why he’s still here,” he demanded. “I want the truth! Or do you actually agree with him? Do you think that he was in the right?”

“Of course I don’t agree with what he did, but I can understand his despair when no one even tried helping the mages.”

“‘No one?’” he snarled. “‘No one helped them?!’ Are you joking right now? No. No, of course you mean it. You know the stories of the mages there. Of Varric’s book. Hawke’s experiences. That’s not the entire account, of course. There were dozens of people who tried to help. Me, for one. I realized it too late, and I will forever feel guilty of that, but I protected and fought for the mages. Ser Thrask devoted his life to protecting them. He gathered dozens of templars to his side, myself included, in the hopes of standing against Meredith’s tyranny one day. And you know what happened to him? The mages he was trying to get out of Kirkwall _murdered him_. He risked his life and they betrayed him. Even Samson sided with the mages. Before he was thrown out, he helped them whenever he could, risking both his pay and position. Nobles petitioned in their favor. Mothers from the Church would sneak in items from time to time. And let’s not forget Hawke herself. But no—no one ever helped the mages. Best to simply burn the city down.”

“I–I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, give me a fucking explanation. Why is he still here, Kaitlyn? _Why_?”

“Because he’s already dying!” She retreated a few steps, arms around herself. “The Blight is spreading through him far faster than the other Wardens. He was on his way to the Deep Roads when Asalla came asking for his help. He’s here to help her. And because he’s one of the best healers I’ve ever seen and even with all the mages we have, we are still _desperate_ for people of his skill. And because, as a Warden, I’m not allowed to call judgement on him anyway unless I have Asalla’s permission. And even if she allowed it, his punishment would be to go into the Deep Roads which he’s already sworn to do once we’ve cleared Adamant. And because a lot of the Wardens there are mages like him. His voice might determine our success with them. He’s useful here. I might even dare say that we _need_ him.”

“It’s still not worth it.”

“Maybe not.”

His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair, trying to contain the years of pain and anger churning within him. He wanted to break something. To scream at the world about the horrors that Anders’s actions had brought. “Who else knows?”

“I haven’t told anyone else. I wouldn’t be surprised if Leliana or Josephine had figured it out on their own though. I asked Lysette to watch him in the healers’ tent, but all she knows is that he’s a Warden mage. Nothing more. Most of the time, he’s by Asalla’s side.”

“Then why tell me at all?” Exhaustion started crawling up his spine where it settled into the very core of his bones. “Why couldn’t you let me be ignorant?”

“Because you’re both going to be at Adamant together. I didn’t want you to see him and feel like you’d been lied to. Like you’d been tricked or betrayed.”

“That’s it?” He scoffed and shook his head. “It would’ve been better had you lied. You should have kept it secret. If I’d seen him, I would’ve believed you if you’d said you didn’t know. That would’ve been better for both of us.”

She lowered her head slightly. “You’re probably right. But I don’t want to lie to you. I don’t want secrets. And I’m sorry, Cullen.” Reaching out to him, she took a hesitant step closer. “Truly, I am sorry, but if we’re going to defeat Corypheus, we can’t afford to turn help away. Not even when it comes from our enemies.”

“That’s easy to say when it’s not _your_ enemy,” he muttered under his breath. He turned and walked down the staircase. He was only halfway to the door before it opened ahead of him.

“Uh.” A scout glanced between them before giving a half-bow to Kaitlyn. “Your brothers have arrived at the gate, Your Grace. Would you like them to be sent up here?”

Kaitlyn flashed a painfully fake smile. “No. I’ll meet them down in the great hall. Thank you for telling me.”

The scout nodded once before withdrawing the same way she’d entered. Cullen glanced back to Kaitlyn who had turned away from him, the back of her hand drawing across her cheeks before she headed to the small mirror on her dresser to fix her hair and clothes. A hollowness seized his chest while he watched, his fingers remembering the way they’d adjusted her scarf before their meeting. Shaking his thoughts away, he followed after the scout at a slower pace.

“Commander,” Leliana said to him once he came within her view. “Here to greet the Trevelyans?”

“Must I?”

“They’re an important family,” Josephine said as she came up on his other side. She picked at his jacket and tutted his loose curls faintly. “We’re lucky the Inquisitor is from such a high-ranking bloodline. We never would’ve survived the attack on Haven without their financial support.”

“They helped us that much?”

Leliana nodded. “They’re the ones who funded the restoration of Skyhold. And they provided food and aid in the meantime.”

“They’ve always been generous supporters of the Chantry,” Josephine continued. “That a Trevelyan is the Herald has brought them even greater renown.”

Cullen frowned. “You make it sound like”—he couldn’t bring himself to say her name—“like the Inquisitor’s an investment to them.”

“That’s the price of being born with a silver spoon.”

Cullen merely shrugged, standing where they told him to, keeping his eyes on the door as Kaitlyn came down the stairs. She’d applied powders to her face and paint to her lips, a set of small white flowers woven into her hair over her left ear beside her scar. Leliana stepped towards her.

“We’ve prepared several rooms for their stay with us. Your brothers will have to share, but your father will have his o—”

“What?” Kaitlyn’s head snapped hard enough to the side that it made Cullen wince. “Father?”

“Yes?”

“You—you said that only my brothers were coming. I specifically said that _only my brothers_ were welcome.”

Leliana frowned. “Your father is the one who helped us survive. We can’t turn away one of our biggest supporters. It will make others look poorly on you.”

“I don’t care,” Kaitlyn said. “Refuse him entry. Now.”

“No,” Leliana said.

Kaitlyn turned to Josephine. “Please. We don’t need his money anymore. Andraste’s blood, I just saved the Empress of Orlais! Surely, we don’t need the Trevelyan name backing us up.”

“If we lose your family, we lose the good graces of the Free Marches. And Leliana’s right. If we don’t host someone who saved us, the results could be devastating.” Josephine shared a look with Leliana before shaking her head. “Either way, it’s too late. He’s been announced. People expect him to be here.”

Kaitlyn stepped up to Cullen, eyes pleading. “Please,” she whispered. “Any reason. Any excuse. Please don’t let him in here.”

He stared at her, studying her face, before he leaned in close to her ear and said, “If we’re going to defeat Corypheus, we can’t afford to turn help away. Not even when it comes from our enemies.”

When he pulled away, her face was devoid of emotion. Though she looked at him, her focus went well beyond anything before her as she turned towards the doors of the main hall. Without a single sound, she sank into her throne. Josephine leaned down to her ear. Kaitlyn nodded once. Her back straightened, body tight and tense. “Let them in.”


	31. Reunions

Kaitlyn dug her fingers in the arm of her chair, heart beating in painful anticipation. Her father. Here. She took in a deep breath as the enormous doors swung open to allow her family inside. Over a dozen people walked forward, servants and Inquisition soldiers flocking the three men at the center. A laugh almost escaped her when she saw the Trevelyan family crest coming forward. If not for the symbol emblazoned on his chest, Kaitlyn never would’ve recognized the man as her father. She’d imagined a tall and lean figure with sharp features and biting eyes—a shadow demon that haunted her still. 

The specimen before her was none of those things.

Cillian Trevelyan’s belly was barely contained within the fine silk he wore a dozen layers thick. His once dark hair had turned an uneven mess of grey and white that left him looking far older than he was in truth. He held himself tall and proud, but seemed shorter than Kaitlyn. Despite the unimpressive entrance, when he drew near, she felt herself shrinking away as far as the chair would allow.

“Inquisitor,” Cillian said with a low bow, “I know this is long overdue so I hope that you’ll accept my most humble and sincere apologies. It’s an absolute pleasure to see you again. You’re looking more beautiful than I ever could’ve imagined.”

Kaitlyn thought she might break her face with the smile she forced. “Yes. You do owe me your most sincere apologies for such a grievous offense. I hope that you won’t make the mistake twice, Lord Trevelyan.”

The second bow he’d begun lowering himself into stopped; his brown eyes bulged faintly at her words as though he were surprised to discover that she had a voice of her own. “I—of course, Inquisitor.” He finished the bow and cleared his throat.

Kaitlyn dug her nails farther into the wood, grateful for the splinters digging into her skin for the distraction they gave her. The scar beside her left eye had itched when Cillian had entered and now the scar began to burn like it had the night he’d given it to her.

“Josephine,” Kaitlyn said, “I’m sure that Lord Trevelyan is tired after his long journey. I know firsthand how taxing it can be to come here all the way from Ostwick. Would you please escort him to his chambers for me?”

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

Kaitlyn muttered a thanks—still annoyed that her request had been denied by all three of her advisors. All this supposed power and she couldn’t even avoid seeing her own father.

“Wait a moment,” Cillian said, taking a half step away from Josephine. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, and I brought gifts. Surely I’ve earned a moment of your time.”

“Anything you have to say to her will be better said with food and a bottle of wine, don’t think you?” Leliana told him with that dangerously sweet smile of hers. “We have some truly excellent vintages that I think you’re going to love. You are staying with us for some time, after all.”

“I—” Cillian’s eyes shifted around to the various soldiers throughout the halls and all the weapons they carried. Frost sparked between Kaitlyn’s fingers, her power begging for a chance to lash out at the man before her.

“Josephine,” Kaitlyn said instead, “please. Escort the guest. Now.”

Kaitlyn kept her gaze ahead of her, not daring to relax until she heard her father’s voice become muffled behind the door. His absence was like the first instant a salve is poured onto a fresh wound. Pain and relief filled her in equal measure as she got to her feet and started walking towards her brothers.

The twins were a mirror image of one another. Tall with warm, brown skin and dark hair that carried a soft curl to it. Straight, full noses and angled jaws highlighted the natural gauntness of their features. Both had a handful of moles and freckles splattered across their faces. The pattern seemed to be the only physical distinction between them.

They shared a glance and bowed to her as their father had.

“No need for that. Which one of you is Marcus and which one is Anthony?”

Another shared look before the man on the right stepped forward. He smiled at her, his demeanor appearing more relaxed in the great hall. “Marcus,” he said. “He’s Anthony.”

She looked them over, a genuine smile replacing the one she’d had as people began to file out of the room. “It’s nice to meet you both at last. Did you… did you know about me? Before the Conclave?”

Their expressions were a clear _No_ despite their nods.

“I see,” she murmured. “In any case, you’re here now and we’ll have a few chances to talk, I hope. Did mother come as well or did she stay in Ostwick?”

Anthony frowned. “Mother died. Near ten years ago.”

“… Oh. I—I didn’t know.” Kaitlyn stood there, unable to summon the sympathy expected of her. Instead, she cleared her throat. “There’s obviously a lot for us to discuss. And while I look forward to every minute of it, perhaps we should—” She stopped short when she saw the symbol on Anthony’s shoulder. “You’re a templar?”

“Was going to be.” Anthony’s words were clipped through a tightly controlled expression. “The Order stopped taking recruits before I could join them properly.”

In her heart, Kaitlyn thanked the Maker for sparing her brother the pain of lyrium. “There are other ways to serve if that’s what you wish. Our own Commander was a templar: a Knight-Captain, in fact. Perhaps he could tell you more about it.” She turned to where Cullen had been standing only to find the spot empty. Her smile faltered. Silly of her to expect him to stay.

“And, of course, there’s Ser Barris.” Fixing her smile, she started leading them towards the gardens. “He’s leading the templars of the Inquisition. I’m sure he’d be happy to meet with you. While there may not be any more Circles, the Inquisition is always in need of good men and women willing to help protect the mages here.”

“Including you?” Anthony asked.

“Including me,” she murmured, glancing back to Cullen’s spot one more time before stepping through the passageway.

 

* * *

 

Cullen stalked down the mountain pass towards the forward camp. Blood pounded in his ears. Every step was a struggle not to break out into a run. Anders. Here. His hands clenched in anticipation at seeing the anarchist again, of imagining all the things he might do.

“Commander.”

He barely noted the scouts and soldiers who parted before him: their glances and double takes and frowns. Did they see the rage burning inside him? Would they even care if they had?

His hands tightened again, nails biting into the skin of his palm. He welcomed the sharp pricks of pain that grounded him in the moment—that confirmed this was no fantasy or daydream.

“Lysette,” he grunted at the templar standing guard outside of the main healer’s tent. The scent of elfroot and spindleweed weighed heavy on the air, almost drowning out the lingering stench of blood tinged by rot.

“No trouble?” he asked her, surprised at how even his voice remained.

“Should there be?”

“There’s always trouble these days.”

She smiled at that, eyes too busy sweeping the perimeter to glance his way. “Anything in particular I should be wary of?”

Cullen hesitated. Half of him wanted to go on a rampage, declaring to the entire world that Anders was here. And yet… Kaitlyn wasn’t wrong. He hated to admit it—he hated to even _think_ it—but the truth about the mage would only bring more heartache and loss to the Inquisition. To Kaitlyn herself.

“I’ve, um.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know that the healers remain in high demand no matter how quiet things are. I think it’d be a good idea to have another templar switching out your patrol so there’s always someone keeping an eye on this place. If nothing else, having your presence here will keep others from trying to take advantage of the healers.”

Lysette nodded slowly, eyes still searching. “I’ll ask Knight-Commander Barris about it the first chance I get.”

“Please do, and tell him that the Inquisitor is already aware of the request as well.” Turning from her, he ducked inside the tent. His rage returned in an instant, stronger than before, seeping down into his bones until his entire being ached to lash out in retaliation. The pained cries, the orphaned children, the death and destruction that continued to burn behind his eyes when he went to sleep—Anders needed to answer for it.

Cullen nodded at the mages who walked by, keeping closer to the edges so as not to disturb them with his glowered passing. He noted the faces of each of them in turn until he reached the back of the tent. Heaps of herbs and poultices and potions were stacks haphazardly across a dozen tables. In the center of it all sat a robed figure with their hood drawn down over the face. An orange kitten dozed on one shoulder, its tail idly swishing back and forth over the Warden’s symbol stitched into the cloth. Cullen slipped one of the slimmer knives the surgeon used off the table and up his sleeve before he approached.

“Anders.”

The figure turned, not quite looking at Cullen. Dark cracks stretched across the pale skin beneath the hood, laced with the slimmest streaks of brilliant blue and bloody crimson. The eyes were milky and faded and the blond hair was closer to silver. When he spoke, the voice was layered as though multiple creatures were speaking in time with him, the voice of the blighted; “I had wondered how long it would take you to find me.”

“And yet you stayed here?”

“Of course. I have nowhere else to go. And I…” Anders trailed off and brushed his left hand over his forehead. “This is where I am best suited for now.”

“You’re best suited for a prison cell,” Cullen snarled, moving closer to keep their conversation private.

“Perhaps. But I think it’s too late for that. Maybe… if you’d found me earlier. But then… Yes. Who knows what might have been then.” Anders turned. He didn’t draw the hood down but he angled his face to allow Cullen a more direct view. He didn't look human. “Have you come to kill me, Commander?”

“Not yet.”

Those hollow eyes drifted down to Cullen’s hand where he still clutched the knife. “Later, then?”

“If you endanger another here, yes.”

“I have no intention of harming anyone.”

Cullen scoffed. “I’m sure you’ve always had pure intentions, but your intentions aren’t good enough. Not here. Only your actions matter.”

“I agree.”

Cullen blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “You do?”

“Yes, I do. There are things that I… There are times when I’m not…” Anders let out a deep breath and shook his head. “None of that matters now. I will not hurt anyone here, Rutherford. Your Inquisitor has been fair to the mages so I see no need to rise against her, if that’s what you fear. I’ll remain here until I am no longer needed. Which should be soon if the rumors are true.”

Cullen started at him for a while before he shifted the knife downwards in his hand. Savoring the sensation of the cool metal, he stood there. Seconds. Minutes. Maybe hours passed. For years, he’d thought of the things he’d do if Anders ever came within his reach. And now, here he was, alone, all but defenseless.

Cullen let the knife clatter onto the table. He flexed his hand, testing his resolve to see if he would take the weapon up again. He did not.

“One rumor about a mage gone mad and I’ll be back here.”

“I know,” Anders said.

Cullen waited another few moments before he turned and walked away. Regret and relief and anger and sorrow swelled within his chest. He wiped at his eyes and took in deep breaths against the growing tremor of his hands. He continued on in a daze, torn over what he’d just done. Kaitlyn’s words that morning mixed with memory of what had happened in Kirkwall. Everything came together, pressing down on his shoulders and slowing his progress to a crawl.

 _Kaitlyn_.

He trudged his way towards her wing, dimly aware of how late it had become as he climbed the endless staircase. When he reached her door at last, he stood there, useless, unsure, his stomach tying itself into knots.

He knocked once.

“Who is it?”

“Cullen.”

“Do you need something?”

“I—I’d like to talk for a moment, if that’s all right.”

Silence, then, “Come in.”

His hands continued to tremble as they pushed the door open. A few candles burned on the edge of her desk where she was reading letters. A pair of spectacles, like the ones Varric owned, were set on the edge of her nose. The shadows they cast along her cheeks reminded him of the mask she’d worn at the Winter Palace.

“You’re not with your brothers?”

“We talked for a while. I don’t think it’s good to ask them too much at once.”

He frowned at that, coming to the edge of her desk. “But they’re your family.”

“You say that as though it _means_ something. We have the same parents, that's all. I’ve never met them before today, remember? While I’d like to know them, there is no bond or familiarity between us. I didn’t even know that my mother was dead until now. I hadn’t even thought to ask to find out. That’s how close I am to my family, Cullen.”

He made a faint grunting noise.

Kaitlyn straightened suddenly, taking the spectacles from her nose. “What of your parents? You’ve told me about your siblings, but never your parents.”

“Died in the Blight.”

“When you were in Kinloch?”

He nodded, his throat growing tighter at the unexpected topic.

“I’m sorry, Cullen.”

“As am I.” He shifted and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m especially sorry for this morning. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you the way I had. It was wrong of me. Incredibly wrong. You may not have noticed, but I can have a bit of a temper.”

She smiled a little. “I certainly haven’t had the coolest head.”

“All the same, I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I don’t like the situation. Maker help me, I’ll never like having… having _him_ anywhere near me, but I can understand it. I don’t like the Inquisitor’s decision about keeping him here, and I don’t particularly care for the Inquisitor at times, but I—I’ve always liked _you_. If—if that makes sense.”

“I think I understand what you mean.”

He nodded absently, fidgeting again. “Kaitlyn, I… I’m not good at this. Being with someone. I want to be good at it. I hope to be better at it soon. But until then, I can only say that I’m so very sorry for what I said and I hope that—” He stumbled backwards, barely catching his weight from the force of her arms thrown around his neck. She clung to him, face buried in his neck, fingers clutching his coat. It was the desperate embrace of someone starved for affection and trust.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, holding her tight as he dared.

She nodded, but her grip tensed as though he’d be ripped away at any moment. As though he’d rip himself away.

“I’m sure we can find some excuse to make your father leave. You don’t _have_ to keep him here, whatever Josephine or Leliana might say.”

“Maybe.” She pressed herself impossibly closer. “It wasn’t as bad as I’d expected, to be honest.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to endure it.” He kissed her forehead and wished he had the proper words to assure her. “Do you want to talk about it? About him?”

“ _No_.”

“Then we won’t.” He kissed her forehead again and began easing her toward the couch beside the stairs. Her every movement was stiff, almost nervous, but she came with him, tugged by his sincerity until she was sitting in his lap with his arms around her. He forgot, sometimes. He forgot that she was human and flawed and frail just as he was. That she needed help and forgiveness and patience.

“My sister may have already told you this in her letters,” he said, “but when I was five, I thought butterflies were magic.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Thought they were crafted right out of the Fade. I don’t know why. Maybe Mia said it once as a joke. But I would spend hours chasing after them, hoping some of their magic would rub off on me…”

Cullen held her, telling her stories of his childhood in Honnleath while he rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head and loved her in the only way he knew how. When the candles on her desk sputtered into darkness, he told her funny stories of his templar training, times he spent with Miya Amell, of the recruits who came and went. He told her everything. Everything he could think of that was good, that might make her smile and forget the burdens on them both. He told her about tripping into the Grand Cleric when Kaitlyn’s head began to droop, and he told her about his first sparring match with Cassandra when her breathing deepened, the faintest snore rumbling in her chest. And when he was on the edge of joining her in slumber, arms secure around her waist, he whispered the deepest truth he had within himself: _I love you… and it scares me_.


	32. Dangers from Within

Cullen awoke to find Kaitlyn still sitting in his lap, her head on his chest, eyes staring blankly at the wall before her. He knew the expression well. It was the look of wanting to be nowhere and everywhere and anywhere else besides where she was. The look of feeling too much and nothing at all and not knowing which one was worse. A look that bypassed sorrow and grief straight into a dull acceptance.

“I’m so sorry for what I said, Kate.”

She started and turned to him, not quite smiling. “I know you are. My father, he—” She traced the scar beside her eye absently. “The reason why he… he shares your sentiments from Kirkwall: _mages are not people_ , and all that. Having my power manifest was more than a disappointment to my parents. It was an inconvenience. A stain on the family.”

His insides shriveled at her words, tongue turning to cotton as he waited for her to continue.

“I’ve never told anyone,” she said. “What he did to me. What my mother did. No one ever bothered to ask before, and I never thought I’d see them again so I just locked it away. I… I don’t even know if I _can_ say it now.” Her golden eyes focused on him again. “Is that strange?”

“No. It took years before I could fully explain what happened at Kinloch. And even then, it’s not the same. Words can’t justify the horrors that happened there. If your father is really so bad, if what he did was really so terrible, then we should throw him in the trash where he belongs. You may be the Inquisitor, but you still get to have control over your own life.”

“Do I?”

“Of course.”

Her smile widened slightly. “Says the man who hasn’t seen the family he loves since he was a boy. If I get to have a life of my own, you’re owed one too.”

“This isn’t about me right now. Your father—”

She groaned and pressed her face against his shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

“ _Kate_ , you have choices. He doesn’t need to—”

“Please. Please, I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

Her body had stiffened and her fingers had started clutching at his coat. There was a slight tremor to her when he pulled her closer. “All right,” he said. “But if you ever _do_ want to talk, I’ll listen. Whatever you have to tell me, I’ll listen.”

“… Thank you.”

Tilting her chin up, he kissed her softly, smiling when her arms came up to wrap around his neck. He held her closer, arms protective around her waist.

“We should do something,” he murmured, lips still brushing against hers.

“We can’t leave. Asalla’s due back at any time, and, depending on what she tells us, we’ll be marching off to Adamant.”

“Something here, then. It doesn’t need to be extravagant. But we need to  _do_ something. Distract ourselves from all this madness.”

She bit her lip in a failed attempt to stop her smile.

“What?” he asked.

“I haven’t been able to train in a while.”

“Train?” 

“Mmhmm, with the sword and shield.” She pecked his cheek before sliding out of his lap with a faint groan and stretch of her arms. “Would you like to spar with me, Commander?”

“Name the time and place, Inquisitor.”

“An hour from now. Down in the courtyard.”

“I’ll be there.”

She turned towards her dresser, stopped, then came back to him. Her lips crashed down on his in an insistent kiss that had him groaning when her fingers ran through his hair; the light nip of his bottom lip that drew out his tongue made him very grateful he was already sitting down as his head spun. Her muted gasp of pleasure left his skin burning. His hands ached to hold and touch and take but he kept them firmly on her hips. He loved the taste of her. The feel of her. Everything about her. 

“Cullen,” she whispered between kisses as her touches began to soften, “I’m yours. Remember that.”

He gaped up at her, his mind too fuzzy to form proper words. She kissed him one last time before pulling away.

“Kate.” Clamoring to his feet—a somewhat clumsy venture as his left leg was mostly asleep—he drew her into his arms again. “I’ll do better. I swear it.”

“I know you will. And so will I.”

Cullen kissed her forehead and both of her cheeks before forcing his arms to fall away. They shared a smile before he turned and started down the stairs, begging Andraste in his heart that today would be better than yesterday.

 

* * *

 

Kaitlyn tested the weight of the sparring sword and shield in her hands. A small crowd had gathered around the ring Cullen had set up for them, but she didn’t mind. The spectators would help keep her focused. Hopefully.

“Any special rules?” Cullen asked as he took his place across from her.

In place of his blue coat, he’d opted for a set of plain clothes any soldier or scout may have worn. The loose white shirt was open below the neck, letting her see part of his chest where the edge of one of his scars from Kinloch Hold peek out beneath the white cloth. Combined with the fitted cut of his dark pants and the slight curl that had escaped his hair treatment, the image he made was becoming increasingly difficult to look away from.

Kaitlyn shook her head and made a few experimental swings of the wooden sword. “Nothing special. First one to get knocked down or disarmed loses.”

Cullen nodded and gave one of the guards the task of counting them down. She kept her eyes downcast towards Cullen’s feet while the seconds ticked away, putting her focus on the people pressing in closer.

“ _Go_.”

Kaitlyn and Cullen lunged towards each other. Their swords clashed with Cullen diverting towards her left. She deflected his second attack with her shield, earning a sharp intake of breath from the crowd when his deflected sword swung by a few of their faces. Kaitlyn kept her shield up high when he began to circle around. The intensity of his eyes made her knees weak and her body warm. She shook her herself again, but the feeling refused to abate. If anything, the more she stared at him, the more intense the sensation became.

 _Crowd was a bad idea_ , she thought dully as images of them lying together on her bed began to tug her attention away from the present: his rough hands gentle on her face and neck as they kissed for hours at a time, both of their touches slowing wandering across the other’s body. One of the rare times they were actually together and she’d suggested sparring. Brilliant move, Kaitlyn. Brilliant.  

Withdrawing behind her shield, Kaitlyn kept a careful eye on his feet. The urge to cast a barrier or wall of ice grew with every passing second. She gripped her sword tighter, determined not to rely on her magic. If she ran out of mana on the field—at Adamant—she needed a way out.

He struck out again. His sword made a dull thunk against her shield before she jumped away, barely missing his follow-up attack.

“Remember,” he said with a grin, “your shield is as much a weapon as it is armor. A master of the shield could face a dozen armed men.”

“Maybe so, but right now, I’d settle for being one level above a sloth demon.”

Cullen chuckled softly, holding back long enough for her to gather herself before coming in for another series of attacks. She kept him at arm’s length, fully aware that he was making his swings larger and slower than he would’ve done in actual battle. Even so, she barely kept up with the constant shift of his movements. Biding her time, she dodged and blocked, baiting his attacks until she got him to overextend. When the tip of his sword scraped past, she bashed her shield against his shoulder to send him stumbling forward. She swung down. Her sword resonated against metal.

“ _How?_ ”

He grinned at her before untwisting his position in an easy gesture. “Master of the shield, remember?”

Kaitlyn rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop her smile. They continued like that for a while: touching blows back and forth—Cullen made everything smooth and easy with his control while Kaitlyn floundered and struggled not to be thrown off her feet. Sweat started dripping down the back of her neck, but she didn’t care. It was freeing, being able to forget everything else. Even the crowd fell away until she was alone with Cullen, locked in this violent dance of deflections and grins.

“Well done, Kaitlyn!” someone called from the called.

She turned toward the voice, drawn to the sound despite her hatred of it. Her father stood no more than ten feet away with a broad grin and his arms crossed as though he’d lost all memory of what he’d done to her. As though he was truly the father he should’ve been. As though he still didn’t haunt her dreams.

“ _Kate!_ ”

The harsh whisper came from her side where Cullen was quickly closing in with a raised sword. He seemed caught between terror and inspiration as his eyes darted from her shield to his exposed chest. Without thinking, she charged forward.

Cullen hit the ground with a wheezed grunt, his sword knocked from his hand at the impact. She placed her own wooden blade across his throat, panting softly, her mind reeling from what had just happened.

“Well done, Inquisitor,” he said with a smile.

He hadn’t simply let her win, as he’d tried to do in their first game of chess so many months ago, he’d sacrificed his own pride and standing to improve the way the others would see her—how her father would see her. His smile grew as she continued to stare, eyes softening as though to say, _I’ve got you_.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He grinned, and, within the space of a heartbeat, she felt a lifetime pass. His body was warm and inviting beneath hers, and despite being knocked onto his back and likely bruised, he appeared utterly at ease, his smile relaxed and sincere. Sweat had coaxed out his natural curls which give him an almost boyish charm. The hand that had held his sword was now on her waist and the simple touch became an anchor keeping her in the moment with him.

“Cullen…”

“Inquisitor!”

Kaitlyn jerked up and heat burst in her cheeks as she saw how many people had gathered there. Clearing her throat, she got to her feet before helping Cullen stand as well. Mai was approaching alongside a fuming Asalla.

“Was Adamant as bad as you expected?” Kaitlyn asked the Warden-Commander.

“Worse! Those ungrateful, idiotic, foolhardy _fucks_ are going to destroy everything the Wardens stand for!”

Coming up behind her with Alistair, Fenris muttered, “Tell us how you truly feel.”

Asalla either ignored the comment or didn’t hear it as she continued, “Blood magic is one thing, but summoning demons?! It wasn’t just the small group we found in the Western Approach. They’re _all_ doing it. _Clarel_ is doing it. For decades, she’s been fighting against the Blight in every way she could—I thought she would’ve known better. I thought she was being controlled or forced, but no! She’s sacrificing her own men— _her friends_ —to summon demons. Demons! And all because she’s afraid of her own mortality. She knew what was going to happen. She knew the Wardens’ curse!”

“The demon army you saw in the future,” Cullen said to Kaitlyn. “I never would've believed that the Wardens were behind it.”

“Future?” Asalla asked, rage continuing to burn in her eyes.

“It’s a long story,” Kaitlyn said. “Did you get more recruits?”

“Not enough. They’re all possessed by their fear. That little shit, Livius Erimond, is there too. I reached the fortress ahead of him, but saw them welcoming his arrival when I was sneaking around. We need to move _now_. Wardens, we can fight. Wardens _and_ demons become a different…” She frowned, looking around the ring of people who were still there before narrowing her eyes. “What’s going on here?”

“Sparring.” Kaitlyn displayed her wooden weapons. “Thought it would be good to practice. We should go inside and talk about what else you saw.”

“No.” Asalla shoved her staff in the face of someone nearby—Bull, as it happened, who grinned madly as he started waving it about—before marching up to the pair of them. “I need to fight someone who’s actually competent for a change. Give me something I can hit with.”

“Ooh!” Bull raised his free hand. “I volunteer to _get_ hit.”

“No,” she said. “Rutherford, you up for another round?”

“I—well… I could, but wouldn’t you prefer to work with Theirin?”

“Alistair knows all my tells.” Asalla’s expression softened in the brief moment she looked at her fellow Warden. “And he doesn’t like attacking me, even when it’s for practice.”

“Wouldn’t mind joining in myself,” Alistair said. “Perhaps if the Inquisitor is so inclined?”

“Aren’t we in a hurry?” Kaitlyn asked.

Mai stepped forward. “Leliana and Lady Montilyet are aware of the situation. The forward scouts have already left, but the rest of us won’t follow for another day or so.”

Fenris rejoined Mai’s side and whispered into her ear. She raised an eyebrow, leaning into him before she pulled away and nodded.

“We would like to join as well,” Fenris said.

“Wait,” Kaitlyn said. “Join what? What’s happening right now?”

“A distraction,” Mai said. “Something to help us clear our minds before we march off to Adamant.”

Kaitlyn turned to Cullen who simply shrugged.

“Three-way duel then?” Asalla asked as she began to stretch. “All of us paired up. Warriors use blunted weapons, mages have to work without their staves.”

“Sounds fair.” Fenris handed his sword to Varric who laughed and starting taking bets from the audience. People were starting to push and shift, the dwarves and shorter elves allowed to the front while the handful of qunari stood at the back. The few children in Skyhold were placed on the qunaris’ shoulders, their tiny hands gripping horns to stay steady.

“This is a foolish waste of time,” Solas said loud enough to hear before leaning down to slip Varric a few coins.

Kaitlyn stood there, stuck in a mild state of confusion as her weapons were taken from her. She moved when Cullen tugged her arm, withdrawing to a section of the clearing as the other four did the same, splitting the six of them up into a triangle. Alistair called for a blunted pike while Fenris was brought the wooden copy of his broadsword.

“This is hardly fair,” she muttered to Cullen. “You and I haven’t fought together like they have.”

“But Varric made Fenris and Mai’s fighting styles well-known. And I’m familiar with the kind of spells Asalla favors. So you see? We’re not so very far behind the rest.”

She continued to scowl, easing magic into her fingertips, unsure if this bout was wise. “Any quick tips before we begin?”

“Fenris relies on raw offense to keep himself safe while Alistair’s pike will force enemies to stay at a distance. I’ll try and get in close to Alistair to disarm him before he can do too much damage. Fenris tends to leap to get in close so using an ice wall will be a smart way to stop him. As for Asalla and Mai, Asalla likes to drain her enemies while Mai brings them close together before setting them on fire.” He frowned before muttering, “Let’s just hope they don’t come after us first.”

Varric, his trousers and coat both dangerously close to falling off him from the gold weighing down his pockets, stepped into the center. “You can stop at any time and leave the fight. Mages, no lethal magicks. Warriors will defeat their appointment by tapping—and I do mean _tapping_ ”—He stared pointedly at Fenris whose cheeks grew ruddy—“their appointment in a vital area. If a mage disables an opponent for more than five seconds, that will also be considered a defeat. Are you all agreed?”

A set of nods sent the crowd into an unnatural silence. Corypheus himself could’ve torn apart the sky and descended in flame and no one would’ve looked away.

“At the ready,” Varric said, withdrawing to a safer distance. “Three. Two. _Fight_.”

Kaitlyn dropped to her knees and slammed her open palms against the ground. Frost shot across the dirt, thickening to ice as it went. She controlled the path, keeping the way clear for Cullen to charge Alistair as he was doing now. Mai stomped her right foot down and the ground beneath her cracked. The earth itself glowed, the heat Mai created keeping Kaitlyn’s frost at bay before Mai began to drive it back from her and Fenris. Asalla laughed once, her head thrown back, before she exploded into a swarm of insects.

“Not fair,” Alistair shouted when Kaitlyn’s ice reached him, making him wobble and slip as he fended off Cullen’s charge with desperate swings.

Asalla’s swarm buzzed around the other three. Kaitlyn hissed at the constant sharp stings, struggling to summon a localized blizzard to slow the insects down. Across from her, Mai showed similar difficulties before she shouted out a word in Tevene that caused Fenris’ sword to burst into flame. He swung the flaming sword through the thickest part of the swarm until the insects withdrew to Alistair’s side, reforming into the Warden-Commander. Asalla panted heavily, her hair and clothes burnt in some places and frosted over in others.

Kaitlyn followed after Cullen, intent on helping him trap Alistair when her body went numb all at once. She stood there, the world spinning around her, her legs barely keeping her upright.

“What’s wrong?” Asalla asked with a grin. “Feeling tired, Inquisitor?”

“Ashhhhhfff,” was all Kaitlyn managed out. Out of the corner of her eye, Mai and Fenris were moving at a similarly glacial pace. Sweat ran down Mai’s face when she brought her hands together in a tight ball before spreading her fingers outwards. Wind swept through the crowd, throwing Cullen off balance and stumbling towards Kaitlyn as all six of them were blown away from the center towards the crowd which was all too eager to push them back in.

“Kate?”

“M’fine,” she said as the Entropy began to wear off. “You?”

“Caught my cheek. Would’ve been quite the scar if the weapon had been sharp.”

Kaitlyn’s reply was cut short as Fenris came swinging down, his sword black and charred. The dull _whack_  of it hitting Cullen’s shield made Kaitlyn wince before she threw up a wall of ice and shoved it away, forcing Fenris to be shoved along with it.

Alistair thrust towards Mai. She dodged. Once. Twice. Her black hair whipped around her face as she frantically backpedaled before Fenris recovered enough to come to her aid, deflecting Alistair’s pike with a snarl. With the three distracted, Cullen went for Asalla. He was nearly in arm’s reach when her form shifted again.

Dozens of screams echoed through the courtyard as an enormous spider took Asalla’s place, its pincers clicking menacingly as it scuttled about.

“Oh, fuck no!” Cullen yelled before stumbling away. The spider shifted back to balance on six legs and reached out towards him. Cullen released his shield without a second thought, the color gone from his face. Kaitlyn hurried up to his side, arms up and perpendicular to the ground before she slammed her forearms together. Pillars of ice burst out of the ground around the giant spider. Kaitlyn clasped her hands and the ice spread, the pillars fusing together into a massive prison.

Kaitlyn turned to see Alistair struggling to hold off Fenris and Mai, the Warden’s body twisting and shifting, his every movement as smooth and even as flowing water. Even so, it wasn’t enough to match two of the heroes of Kirkwall.

“I’ll take Mai,” Cullen whispered. “See if you can tip the scales with the others.”

Kaitlyn nodded, pushing past her exhaustion as she ran forward. She focused on the ground beneath Alistair’s feet, knowing that Asalla would be free again in any moment, and started to spread frost when Fenris turned on her. He swung down. She flung her hand up, preparing to create a barrier.

The mark sparked. Then crackled outwards. Kaitlyn’s arm burned with a pain too intense to let her scream. She fell to one knee but her arm remained locked in place above her head. Energy lashed out from the mark, latching itself onto Fenris’ weapon. Agony swept through her. She knelt there, helpless to do anything but watch as the magic wound itself around the two-handed blade, causing it to glow and pulse like a living thing before dissolving it from his hand.

Murmurs arose from the crowd.

“ _What was that?_ ”

“ _Have you seen magic like it before?_ ”

“ _Someone fetch Ser Barris_.”

Kaitlyn rose shakily to her feet, eyes locked on the mark. The duel had stopped. “My apologies, Fenris. I—I’m sure that was an illegal move on my part. I didn’t mean to… That is to say, I forfeit. Forgive me, Commander. I fear I was swept up in the moment.” She managed a smile to reassure the worried glances. The forced expression cracked when she caught her father’s face in the crowd.

 _I knew this would happen_ , Cillian Trevelyan’s eyes said. _I was right about you_.

 

* * *

 

Cullen frowned as he watched Kaitlyn walk away. The crowd parted for her the same way they had on her first day in Haven: half respect, half terror.

“Did you see that?” Alistair asked Asalla the instant she’d broken free from her prison. “That was _amazing_! There’s nothing left of the sword anywhere.”

Asalla turned to Cullen. “What kind of magic is that?”

“It comes from her mark,” Solas said before Cullen could. “It is unique to this world.”

“Too bad,” Asalla said. “Magic like that could be useful.”

_And dangerous._

She didn’t say the words, but they hung in the air.

Varric clapped his hands together. “Well, that’s one down. Do the rest of you want to continue?”

“I’m finished,” Cullen said. “I need to start preparing anyway.” He followed after Kaitlyn’s path, handing off his sword to Blackwall who accepted it with a solemn nod. He didn’t bother to see if the others continued the fight, quickening his step instead to try and catch up.

“Kate?” he called once he’d reached the stairs up to her room. He climbed them two, then three, at a time, pushing himself faster and faster until he reached her door, panting when he knocked. “Kaitlyn, are you in there?”

Nothing.

He knocked again. “I’m going to come in to see if you’re all right. If you don’t want me to, tell me now.”

More nothing.

Cullen eased the door open one inch at a time. He poked his head inside before slowly letting the rest of his body follow. A faint sniffle pricked his ears as he walked farther into the room. He paused, waiting until another faint noise led him to her closet.

“Are you all right?” he asked through the door.

Silence, and then, “… Not really.”

“May I open the door?”

“If you want.”

Kaitlyn had tucked herself away in a corner, her knees drawn up to her chest, her reddening eyes barely visible in the dim light. Cullen sat down in front of her and reached towards her shoulder.

“ _Don’t,_ ” she hissed, shifting away from his hand. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not going to hurt anyone.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t!” She sniffed again and wiped the back of her hand across her cheeks. “I don’t have control over this, Cullen. I didn’t mean to lash out at Fenris—I’d prepared a defensive spell—but the mark acted on its own. It’s been acting on its own this whole time. _I_ don’t know how to close those rifts. I just flail my hand about and hope it works.”

He reached for her again, and, again, she pulled away.

“Please, Cullen. You’ll be safer if you’re far away from me.”

“I don’t believe that.” He moved closer to her one bit at a time. Slowly, he took her face in his hands, coaxing her up to look at him. “When we first returned from the Winter Palace, I felt the opposite was true: that you would be safer in someone else’s care. That the effects of my lyrium abstinence left me too weak and too broken and too angry to stay at your side. But you proved me wrong. I proved myself wrong.

“For nearly a year, I’ve been hoping that I might be with you as I’m with you right now. And I’m not about to leave. For as long as you want me, I’m not going to leave.” He rested his forehead to hers, his thumb wiping away the last of her tears. “This morning, you said that you were mine. But I'm also yours. I’m _with_ you, Kate. Whatever happens to the Inquisition, whatever happens at Adamant, whatever happens to us: I’m with you.”

Kaitlyn nodded, a hesitant smile touching her lips—the one where she was trying to be braver than she felt. “You’ve wanted to kiss me for a whole year?”

“I—” He laughed as his cheeks warmed. “Yes, as a matter of fact. And now that I finally _have_ kissed you, I’m afraid there’s no going back to the way things were. Kissing you is just too nice.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered when he brushed his lips along the scar beside her eye.

“I know. I never meant to hurt you either, but I did. Because I was an idiot. And you forgave me. Do you really think I won’t forgive you for something so outside of your control? That’s like saying I’d blame you if I were to be struck by lightning.”

“It’s not the same.”

“What happened today: has it ever happened before?”

She shook her head.

“Then it might not ever happen again. Something to do with Corypheus may have triggered it. Or the mark may have been protecting itself.” He took her left hand and held it in his own. The mark made his skin tingle, but there was no pain or shock. “We’ll take this one day at a time, like everything else.”

Her hand tightened on his. “It’s getting harder. I thought it’d be easier once Celene was our ally, once we had some credibility. But it just keeps getting harder. I haven’t even been down to see the red templar from South Reach yet. Or Florianne. We have leads on Samson and Calpernia, but seemingly no time to _do_ anything about it.”

“We’re about to take on a demon army summoned by Grey Wardens. I think that’s more than enough to worry about for the next few weeks.”

With another squeeze of his hand, she let her head come to rest on his shoulder. “At least we get to go together this time.”

“True.” He kissed the top of her head and smiled when she started to relax in his arms. “Whatever happens at Adamant, at least we’ll be together.”


End file.
